This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  was  taken  out  on 
the  day  indicated  below: 


Lib.  10M-F.'35 


PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY, 
Boston,  Mass. 


THE  COMPANION  LIBRARY 


Is  a  collection  of  stories,  travel-sketches  and  descriptive  articles,  complete, 
exact,  and  so  interesting  as  to  meet  the  need  of  all  who  want  "a  book 
for  the  leisure  hour."  It  is  made  up  from  the  works  of  some  of  the  best 
writers  for  The  Youth's  Companion. 

The  Library  comprises  the  following  volumes,  each  containing  sixty- 
four  pages,  illustrated  and  bound  uniform  with  this  book: 

No.  I.  A  Book  of  Stories:    Patriotism,  Bravery  and  Kindness. 
No.  2.  Glimpses  of  Btirope:    Travel  and  Description. 

No.  3.  The  American  Tropics :    Mexico  to  the  Equator. 
No.  4.  Sketches  of  the  Orient:    Scenes  in  Asia. 
No.  5.  Old  Ocean:    Winds,  Currents  and  Perils. 
No.  6.  I/ife  in  the  Sea:    Fish  and  Fishing. 

No.  7.  Bits  of  Bird  I/ife :    Habits,  Nests  and  Eggs. 

No.  8.  Our  Little  Neighbors:   Insects,  Small  Animals. 
No.  9.  At  Home  in  the  Forest:    Wild  Animals. 

No.  10.  In  Alaska:    Animals  and  Resources. 

No.  II.  Among  the  Rockies  :    Scenery  and  Travel. 

No.  12.  In  the  Southwest:   Semi-Tropical  Regions. 
No.  13.  On  the  Plains :    Pioneers  and  Ranchmen. 

No.  14.  The  Great  I/ake  Country:    A  Land  of  Progress. 
No.  15.  On  the  Gulf:    Attractive  Regions  of  Contrasts. 
No.  16.  Along  the  Atlantic:    New  York  to  Georgia. 
No.  17.  In  New  ^England:  The  Home  of  the  Puritans. 

Price  10  Cents  Each,  Postpaid. 


PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 
201  Columbus  Avenue.  BOSTON,  MASS. 


ON  THE  GULF. 


The  Companion  Library. 

Number  Fifteen. 


SELECTIONS 
From  The  Youth's  Companion. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

NEW  ORLEANS         .       .       .       .          HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD.  3 

GALVESTON                                               HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD.  9 

A  SOUTHERN  FARM        ........      MAX  OWEN.  13 

A  WINTER  HOME  ON  THE  GULF       .      .      .      .       M.  A.  DENISON.  19 

LIGHTS  OF  THE  FLORIDA  REEFS       ....        KIRK  MUNROE.  22 

FLORIDA  WRECKERS             .       .       .       .       .       .        KIRK  MUNROE.  27 

THE  FLORIDA  EVERGLADES  M.  B.  WILLIAMS.  32 

A  TREE  THAT  BUILDS  ISLANDS          .       .       .     CHARLES  T.  SIMPSON.  37 

PINEAPPLES  KIRK  MUNROE.  42 

THE  PURSEWEB  SPIDER        .....       HENRY  C.  McCOOK.  47 

CORN-SHUCKING  IN  THE  SOUTH        .       .       .        EUGENE  SOUTHERN.  53 

A  SOUTHERN  VILLAGE    .       .       .       .       .     HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH.  57 

ST.  AUGUSTINE  HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH.  59 


Copyright,  1898. 
PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY, 
Boston,  Mass. 


New  Orleans. 


So  mighty  is  the  Mississippi,  curving  in  a  crescent  as  it 
sweeps  by  the  city,  and  so  vast  are  the  bayous  and  lakes 
about  her,  that  one  would  not  easily  suppose  New  Orleans  had 
raised  her  splendor  more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  the  sea. 
There  is  something  romantic  and  marvellous  in  her  seat 
among  so  many  waters  and  below  the  level  of  the  river  that 
pushes  itself  through  innumerable  mouths  far  out  into  the 
Gulf  below  her. 

The  town  is  protected  by  an  embankment  called  a  levee, 
generally  used  as  a  wharf  by  throngs  of  steamers  and  packets. 
This  levee  rises  several  feet  in  a  gradual  slope,  so  that  no  flood 
in  the  river  will  overflow  the  streets  ;  on  one  side  of  the  city 
the  levee  skirts  the  lake,  and  is  a  protection  against  the 
backwater  of  storms. 

These  embankments  are  in  use  all  along  the  course  of  the 
Father  of  Waters,  and  when  by  any  caprice  of  the  river,  by 
undermining  because  of  bad  building,  or  in  any  other  way,  a 
break  in  them  occurs,  miles  and  miles  of  country  are  swept 
under  the  current  to  the  destruction  of  everything  but  the 
virgin  soil,  and  sometimes  even  of  that. 

It  is  one  of  these  occurrences  that  suggested  to  Mr.  Cable 
the  incidents  of  a  powerful  story.  The  unnoticed  river,  eating 
its  slow  way  through  the  levee,  suddenly  at  night  bursts  all 
bounds,  and  the  land,  and  the  house,  with  its  lights  and  harp- 
players  and  dancers,  go  down  and  disappear  in  the  horrible 
darkness. 

The  water-works  of  the  city  have  now  brought  the  Missis- 
sippi into  the  hydrants,  and  the  gutters  are  flushed  by  the 
great  river  that,  when  kept  in  close  bonds,  does  good  service. 

The  city  occupies  the  whole  parish  of  Orleans,  which 
contains  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  square  miles,  but  only  about 
forty  of  them  are  used.    One  mile  of  it  was  originally  laid  out 

& 

r- 


4 


NEW  ORLEANS. 


by  De  la  Tour,  with  the  streets  crossing  at  right  angles,  the 
cathedral  at  the  front  centre  ;  but  where  the  town  has  extended 
it  has  done  so  irregularly.  There  are  beautiful  parks  and 
squares,  canals  for  commerce  and  for  drainage,  hospitals 
and  hotels,  a  mint  and  a  custom-house,  a  city  hall  of  white 
marble,  a  host  of  markets  and  public  schools.  Canal  Street, 
which  is  a  splendid  avenue  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  wide, 
divides  the  old  town  from  the  new. 

The  old  town  is  chiefly  the  ancient  French  settle- 
ment, where  the  streets  are  often  not  forty  feet  in  width, 
with  quaint  names,  like  Rue  Royale,  Rampart,  Esplanade,  with 
quaint  signs,  and  with  quainter  people  frequenting  them. 
Because  of  the  unusual  in  face  and  speech,  and  because  of 
its  historical  character,  replete  with  legend,  this  is  the  most 
interesting  portion  of  the  city. 

In. the  more  modern  part  of  the  city  are  broad,  well-shaded 
streets  and  spacious  houses  in  the  midst  of  gardens,  where  the 
sward  is  greener  than  emerald,  and  one  looks  through  the  open 
palings  upon  clusters  of  the  deep  pink  crape-myrtle,  upon 
palm-ferns,  and  upon  open  galleries  peopled  by  lovely  ladies  in 
lawns  and  laces.  Beautiful  magnolias  lift  their  dark  towers  of 
shining  greenery,  and  here  and  there  an  old  palm-tree  invites 
the  eye  up  its  thirty  or  forty  feet  of  scaly  bark,  to  its  tufted 
foliage  where  high  in  the  blue  air  it  drops  its  old  brown  boughs 
and  puts  forth  its  bright  new  plumes. 

It  makes  a  child  of  New  England  feel  far  away  from  home, 
when  looking  at  the  lovely  marvel  of  a  palm-tree  ;  yet, 
nevertheless,  if  once  inside  those  pleasant  places,  one  is  made 
to  feel  very  much  at  home.  One  seems  to  be  in  a  land  of 
enchantment,  when  looking  out  at  one  of  these  gardens  in 
full  bloom  just  as  a  shower  has  fallen,  and  a  norther  comes 
up  to  freeze  every  drop  of  the  rain,  and  sheathed  in  the  thin 
film  of  ice  that  has  formed  too  quickly  to  wither  them,  every 
flower  sparkles  in  the  returning  sunshine  with  ruby  and 
sapphire  and  topaz  petals. 

There  are  several  features  of  New  Orleans  that  are  to  be 


NEW  ORLEANS 


5 


seen  in  few  other  cities.  The  stranger  soon  notices  the  sewage 
in  the  open  gutters,  that  one  has  to  step  over  at  every  crossing, 
and  that  one  meets  a  little  way  out  of  the  more  populous 
portion  of  the  place  in  a  canal  ten  feet  wide. 

It  would  seem  as  if  the  Mississippi  hydrants  might  do  their 
work  a  little  more  effectually  in  flushing  these  gutters  ;  but 
perhaps  it  takes  even  a  stronger  power  than  the  mighty 
river  to  clean  them,  as  after  they  have  run  their  slow  length 


to  their  receptacle,  the  contents  have  to  be  pumped  up,  and 
discharged  into  deep  water. 

Although  water  is  brought  into  town,  nearly  every  house 
has  its  cistern  for  rain-water  besides.  The  cisterns  are  built 
above  ground,  lest  any  of  the  moisture  of  the  damp  soil  should 
percolate  through  their  sides;  they  are  circular,  and  hooped 
like  a  gigantic  hogshead,  and  sometimes  reach  to  the  top  of 
the  third  story.  One  gets  interested  in  the  sight,  and  feels 
that  only  those  in  this  climate  have  wealth  and  luxury,  who 
have  broad  galleries  and  enormous  cisterns.     The  water  is 


In  the  Old  Cemetery. 


6 


NKW  ORIvEANS. 


cooled  for  drinking  by  ice,  which  is  manufactured  through 
chemical  means,  of  a  finer  grain  and  at  a  rather  cheaper  rate 
than  nature  can  supply  it,  taking  freight  into  consideration. 

It  is  this  wet  soil  which  makes  it  impossible  to  dig  a  cellar 
or  a  grave  in  New  Orleans.  All  the  dead  are  buried  above 
ground  in  little  ovens,  as  one  might  call  the  mounds,  or  in 
stately  tombs.  This  necessity  has  brought  about  a  pleasing 
custom  of  making  the  cemeteries  beautiful. 

Although  there  is  something  disagreeable  to  unused  eyes 
and  sensibilities  in  the  little  marble  temples,  whose  glass 
doors  allow  one  to  see  the  caskets  on  their  shelves,  with  their 
wreaths  of  immortelles,  or  of  fresh  flowers,  yet  with  the 
customary  renovation  just  before  each  All  Saints'  Day,  the 
alleys  and  fountains,  the  temples  and  groups  of  sculpture, 
the  willows  and  the  live-oaks  draped  in  funereal  mosses,  the 
magnolias  and  palms  and  flowers,  make  these  cemeteries  places 
of  great  beauty. 

The  whole  region  of  New  Orleans  is  remarkably  pictur- 
esque. In  the  city,  even  where  the  houses  are  in  blocks 
and  rows,  they  are  covered  with  lace-like  fronts  of  iron 
balconies,  and  many  of  the  dwellings  are  of  a  peculiar 
architecture,  pretty,  low,  masked  in  vines  and  surrounded  by 
small  gardens. 

There  is  a  charming  drive  to  Lake  Pontchartrain,  on  the 
Shell  Road,  and  one  of  the  favorite  diversions  is  to  go  out  on  a 
hot  night,  either  by  rail  or  road,  to  the  old  Spanish  fort  or  to 
the  restaurants  at  the  West  End,  and  order  a  supper  of  pompanos 
and  soft-shell  crabs  and  other  delicacies,  served  on  the  veranda, 
while  the  cool,  delicious  breeze  blows  off  the  lake,  and  sails 
steal  slowly  about  far  out  on  the  horizon's  edge  of  the  purple 
waters.  Nothing  is  more  weird  and  captivating  to  the  fancy 
than  the  lighthouses  down  among  these  lonely  waters. 

By  whatever  way  you  enter  New  Orleans,  you  can  gather 
an  idea  of  the  amount  of  wealth  of  which  it  is  and  is  to  be  the 
centre  ;  whether  you  see  it  coming  down  the  river  in  barges 
and  three-decker  steamboats,  or  whether  on  the  huge  freight 


NEW  ORI.EANS. 


7 


steamers  that  wind  in  the  other  direction  along  the  rich  regions 
of  the  southern  shore. 

Perhaps  no  richer  regions  exist  in  the  world  than  these,  the 
great  plantations  of  the  Teche  and  of  St.  Mary's  Parish. 
Immense  plains,  teeming  with  rice,  sugar  and  cotton,  and 
broken  by  no  other  fence  than  at  long  intervals  a  blossoming 
hedge  or  else  a  wilder  reach  of  cypress-swamps,  stretch  their 


The  Carnival  Procession. 

dazzling  tender  green  into  the  distant  sky.  There  are  lofty 
trees  gay  with  a  wild  luxuriance  of  vine  and  gorgeous  bloom, 
and  flashing  pools  of  water  on  whose  edges  one  often  sees  a 
basking  alligator,  a  beautiful  blue  heron,  or  a  rosy  spoon-bill, 
while  here  and  there  a  narrow  waterway  opens,  down  which 
float  the  cypress  ties,  cut  far  back  in  the  forest,  and  fastened 
together  by  chains  and  ropes. 

The  people  of  New  Orleans  are,  perhaps,  as  cosmopolitan 


8 


NKW  ORLEANS. 


as  any  in  the  world,  if  not  more  so.  Among  them  are  many 
Roman  Catholics,  and  that  may  be  the  reason  why  certain 
festivals  of  the  Carnival  season  are  kept  by  them  with  great 
display,  especially  that  of  the  Mardi  gras,  which  the  French 
citizens  began  to  celebrate  about  the  year  1827. 

It  is  a  legal  holiday,  under  the  control  of  King  Carnival, 
known  as  Rex,  who  appears  suddenly  upon  the  streets,  attended 
by  his  special  guard  and  escorted  by  footmen  and  mounted 
knights,  in  a  procession  of  surpassing  beauty.  Group  after 
group  arranged  with  superb  effect,  and  regardless  of  expense, 
move  slowly  along  in  a  dazzle  of  splendor. 

This  group,  perhaps,  illustrates  Egypt, — pyramid,  palm-tree, 
Pharaoh,  with  Cleopatra  in  her  barge,  with  the  fellah  of  the 
Nile  and  the  Sphinx  watching  these  various  eras  of  her 
children  ;  and  that  one  is  chivalry,  with  the  knights  and  ladies, 
falcons  and  mediaeval  accessories  ;  another  is  music,  it  may 
be,  or  it  is  the  event  of  some  especial  epoch,  such  as  the 
meeting  of  the  Kings  in  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,  or 
the  walk  of  Hypatia,  where  Jew  and  Greek  and  Goth  and 
early  Christian  met  on  the  same  spot. 

The  idea  of  each  group  is  a  central  one,  and  it  is  carried 
out  with  spirit.  Jewels  and  velvets  and  cloth  of  gold  are  but  a 
part  of  the  sumptuous  array  where  everything  is  on  a  princely 
scale.  The  affair  has  been  of  so  long  date  that  even  the 
children  know  the  characters,  and  can  call  them  by  name. 

A  ball,  at  which  Rex  chooses  his  queen,  takes  place  after  a 
series  of  matchless  tableaux.  The  whole  arrangement  is  made 
as  superbly  scenic  and  processional  as  possible.  One  prefers 
not  to  see  in  this  anything  like  an  advertisement  to  bring  the 
money  of  strangers  into  the  place,  but  if  it  were  so,  it  is  certain 
the  strangers  get  their  money's  worth. 

On  the  whole,  few  places  have  more  to  offer  strangers  than 
New  Orleans,  and  its  climate  is  one  of  balm,  the  frost  seldom 
amounting  to  discomfort,  and  the  heat  always  tempered  by  a 
Gulf  breeze. 

Harriet  Prescott  Spofford. 


Galveston 


The  Bay  of  Galveston  is  the  best  harbor  in  the  v^hole 
circle  of  the  shores  of  the  Gulf.  It  is  eighty  miles  long,  and 
in  some  places  fifty  miles  wide,  and  has  an  anchorage  of  five 
fathoms  protected  by  the  thirty  miles  of  the  island  that  gives 
it  its  name,  its  existence  and  its  shelter. 

The  advantages  of  such  a  harbor  have  been  fully  recognized 
in  commerce,  as  is  evident  in  the  many  lines  of  steamers  plying 
between  Galveston  and  domestic  ports  as  well  as  Mexico, 
Central  America,  and  the  great  commercial  cities  of  Europe. 

For  the  management  of  so  much  shipping  about  two  miles 
of  water-front,  comprising  four  miles  of  wharfage,  are  in  service, 
and  more  than  double  this  amount  of  deep-water  frontage  is 
available  when  needed. 

The  island  is  one  of  those  masses  of  sand  thrown  up  by  the 
sea  in  many  places  along  our  Southern  coast.  These  meet  the 
bars  of  rivers,  and  are  kept  from  reaching  the  mainland  by 
the  volume  of  water  which  the  rivers  pour  down  in  such 
quantity  as  to  push  off  the  encroaching  particles  while  they 
deposit  their  own,  and  hold  the  battle  between  themselves  and 
the  sea  in  an  even  scale. 

The  city,  which  is  located  on  the  extreme  eastern  end  of  the 
island,  at  first  glance  from  the  Gulf  side,  seems  to  sit  upon 
the  sea  with  a  soft,  silvery  veil  about  it,  so  low  in  the  water 
that  it  could  well  be  fancied  one  of  those  mirages  that  are  so 
frequent  over  these  waters. 

Galveston  was  named  for  the  Count  of  Galvez,  to  whom 
New  Spain,  as  all  that  part  of  the  continent  was  once  called, 
owed  many  reforms  in  its  government.  It  was  a  daring  idea  of 
the  first  settlers  to  plant  their  fortunes  upon  this  long  and 
narrow  strip  of  the  salt  sea-sand  more  than  two  miles  from  the 
mainland. 

But  time  has  proved  the  wisdom  of  their  venture  ;  and  from 


lO 


GALVESTON. 


beginning  with  part  of  an  old  wreck  half  imbedded  in  the  sand, 
for  a  hotel,  and  with  nothing  but  a  wild  beach  undergrowth  on 
the  island,  there  has  grown  up  a  large  and  populous  city,  with 
a  number  of  hotels  equal  to  any  in  the  land,  with  great  com- 
mercial houses  and  dwellings  charming  to  a  degree,  with 
gardens   of  flowers   and  streets   that   are   so  shadowed  by 


Loading  Cotton. 


blossoming  and  fragrant  trees  that  they  might  be  the  walks  of 
an  Eden. 

There  are  broad  and  long  avenues  lined  with  the  China 
umbrella-tree,  whose  masses  of  darkest  green  foliage  are 
forever  tossing  like  thick  plumes  in  the  vSea-wind,  whose  shade 
is  almost  black,  and  whose  clusters  of  pale  purple  flowers 
make  the  air  heavy  with  sweet  odors.  Thriving  luxuriantly 
on  perpetual  sunshine,  and  all  the  water  they  want  to  drink  a 


GAIvVKSTON. 


II 


foot  below  the  surface,  are  oleanders  the  size  of  apple-trees. 
Some  are  loaded  with  bunches  of  blossoms  in  deepest  pink, 
and  others  in  purest  white,  all  shedding  abroad  a  delicate  and 
delightful  vanilla-like  perfume. 

Over  the  high  walls  of  gardens,  with  their  pomegranates 
and  figs,  rise  great  orange-trees  loaded  with  bloom  and  fruit, 
perhaps  as  beautiful  objects  as  the  round  globe  offers  ;  and 
within  those  gardens  half  the  flowers  that  people  of  the  North 
pay  great  prices  for  at  the  greenhouses,  drop  into  the  hands  for 
the  taking.  Of  course  all  this  has  not  come  to  pass  without 
great  trouble  and  pains  and  labor,  in  the  perpetual  enriching  of 
the  soil,  and  a  constant  pride  in  its  production. 

There  is  not  a  city  on  our  shores  that  makes  a  more 
delightful  summer  residence  than  Galveston.  The  heat  is  only 
a  soft  and  delicious  warmth,  tempered  by  the  Gulf  breeze  with 
which  the  trade- winds  continually  blow  over  the  island. 
Everybody  dresses  to  meet  it,  in  white  linen  and  sheer  muslins 
in  their  season,  and  after  a  siesta  there  is  a  constant  round  of 
social  gaieties  in  which  most  of  the  ladies  wear  Paris  costumes 
in  the  last  whim  of  fashion  and  expense,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  the  not  unhealthy  dampness  spots  silks  and  kid 
gloves,  as  if  they  were  on  a  sea-voyage. 

Wealth  has  made  all  luxuries  here  comparatively  easy  of 
attainment ;  for  the  cotton-trade  has  been  the  means  of  center- 
ing great  resources  in  Galveston.  This  wealth  is  evident  in 
the  spacious  mansions  and  the  buildings  on  Tremont  Street 
and  on  the  Strand  and  elsewhere,  in  the  opera-house,  churches, 
race-course,  cemeteries,  street-railways,  gasometers  and  daily 
papers. 

Not  the  least  delightful  custom  of  the  pleasant  life  of  the 
place  is  the  sunset  driving  upon  the  beach.  This  beach  is  one 
of  the  finest  in  the  world,  being  thirty  miles  of  hard  sand  where 
the  horses'  hoofs  will  not  leave  a  print,  and  where  the  waters 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  with  all  the  vivid  splendor  of  its  color, 
swing  to  shore  in  a  long  roller. 

Within  five  minutes  by  electric  car  from  the  principal  parts 


12 


GALVESTON. 


of  the  city  one  may  find  at  the  beach  the  finest  of  hotels  and 
the  most  perfect  accommodations  for  bathing.  Whether  sporting 
in  the  waves,  resting  on  the  hotel  lawn,  or  dancing  in  the 
parlor,  one  finds  every  pleasure  appropriate  to  a  charming 
watering-place. 

There  are  some  citizens  who  have  cottages  on  the  beach,  in 
which  to  pass  the  night  when  they  want  to  be  cooler  than  in 


Bath-Houses,  Galveston  Beach. 


town,  but  generally  the  nights  are  cool  enough  for  sleepers  to 
need  a  blanket  over  them  anywhere  on  the  island. 

One  cannot  leave  Galveston  without  admiring  the  enterprise 
of  bringing  to  the  city  an  abundant  supply  of  pure  water, 
which  is  piped  under  the  bay  from  artesian  wells  on  the  main 
land. 

Another  object  of  interest  is  the  steel  bridge,  two  and  a 
seventh  miles  long,  connecting  the  city  with  the  mainland. 
A  drive  over  this  bridge  and  on  the  shell  road,  reaching  far 
back  into  the  country,  gives  an  experience  to  be  remembered 
with  pleasure,  long  after  one  has  left  this  charming  and 
progressive  city  of  the  South. 

Harriet  Prescott  Spofford. 


A  Southern  Farm. 


A  Northern  man  who  has  never  been  South  in  summer, 
naturally  fears  the  heat  above  all  other  discomforts  when  he 
finds  he  must  spend  at  least  two  weeks  in  New  Orleans  in  the 
latter  half  of  July. 

Such  were  my  feelings  as  the  train  bore  me  for  the  first 
time  on  a  summer's  day  into  the  Crescent  City.  I  had  no  idea 
whatever  of  the  possibilities  of  the  pleasant  surprise  awaiting 
me. 

My  business  required  only  short  and  decisive  interviews 
with  several  firms,  and  a  delay  of  some  days  for  the  completion 
of  our  transactions.  I  dreaded  the  interval,  but  it  proved  a 
fortnight  of  pleasures. 

On  the  second  day  in  the  city,  after  I  had  completed  my 
preliminary  business,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  my  old 
professor  at  the  door  of  the  hotel ;  and  here  my  story  of 
surprises  begins. 

After  the  first  greetings  I  mentioned  a  probable  fortnight 
of  suffering  in  the  heated  city,  when  the  professor  most 
cordially  urged  me  to  go  home  with  him  and  enjoy  the  cool 
breezes  at  his  farm.  The  idea  of  a  New  Orleans  farm  puzzled 
me,  because  I  knew  something  of  the  city  and  its  surroundings. 

In  answer  to  my  questions  the  professor  said,  with  a  twinkle 
of  his  eye,  "It  is  on  the  first  bit  of  dry  ground  east  of  New 
Orleans,  a  little  ride  over  the  line  into  Mississippi." 

That  same  evening  I  was  seated  with  the  professor  on 
his  veranda,  enjoying  paradise.  The  moonlight  gave  magic 
touches  of  color  and  tint  to  flower,  shrub  and  vine,  to  tropical 
plants,  trees  and  fruits,  to  the  emerald  lawn,  and  in  front  of  all 
to  the  peaceful  waters  of  the  Gulf,  whence  came  the  most 
delicious  zephyrs,  which  every  night  of  my  stay  lulled  me 
into  the  slumbers  of  fairy-land. 

I  was  amazed.    I  was  enchanted.    Aladdin  had  transformed 


14 


A  SOUTHERN  FARM. 


the  surrounding  region  with  the  magic  of  his  power  ;  and  for 
nearly  two  wxeks  the  professor's  story  of  his  farming  was  more 
charming  to  me  than  the  Arabian  Niglits'  Entertainments. 

For  many  years  wealthy  New  Orleans  families  have  enjoj^ed 
the  comforts  of  summer  residences  along  the  shore  of  the  Gulf, 
particularly  in  the  vicinity  of  the  beautiful  city  of  Bay  St.  IvOuis. 
The  soft  summer  breezes  from  the  Gulf  drive  away  the  languor 
natural  to  a  hot  city,  and  every  night  is  perfect  for  comfortable 
sleep.    Such  a  climate  and  such  conditions  make  possible  the 


most  charming  society  in  the  world.  But  the  professor  lived 
too  far  from  society  to  be  drawn  often  into  the  pleasures  of 
their  frequent  evening  entertainments. 

It  seems  that  an  unfortunate  "carpet-bagger,"  feeling  that 
his  presence  was  not  cordially  welcomed  in  the  aristocratic 
New  Orleans  families,  bought  a  small  plantation  at  some 
distance  from  the  cottagers,  and  proceeded  to  transform  it  into 
a  model  farm  and  a  beautiful  summer  residence.  When  the 
collapse  of  carpet-bag  rule  came,  his  isolated  place  had  few 
attractions  for  society,  and  our  professor  bought  it  at  a  very 
low  price. 

To  the  lavish  lawn  and  house  decorations  the  professor 
added  only  the  touches  of  his  own  artistic  taste.    To  the  tilling 


i  m 


A  SOUTHERN  FARM. 


15 


of  the  farm  he  added  the  practical  supervision  of  a  skilled 
agriculturist  who  is  also  a  master  of  horticulture. 

A  heavy  mortgage  compelled  the  professor  to  plan  methods 
to  secure  the  best  and  surest  profits,  which  he  laughingly  says 
have  made  him  a  successful  truck  farmer  ;  for  while  waiting 
for  his  first  crop  of  corn  and  cotton  he  found  close  at  hand  an 
immediate  market  for  all  the  vegetables  and  small  fruits  he 
could  raise.  - 

Every  early  vegetable  is  forced  into  readiness  for  market, 
and  all  through  the  year  different  plantings  give  the  choicest 
of  vegetables  in  season  and  out  of  season.  In  May,  August  or 
November  the  same  spring  vegetables  are  found  on  the  tables 
of  many  a  New  Orleans  family. 

Moreover,  the  professor  delights  in  every  variety  of  berries, 
fruits  and  nuts  that  will  grow  in  that  region.  His  large 
eggshell  pecans  are  all  bought  in  advance  by  a  famous 
confectioner.  He  boasts  of  a  few  choice  orange-trees  and  other 
sensitive  tropical  plants,  which  his  men  protect  on  the 
occasional  frosty  night  of  winter  by  canvas  tents.  These  he 
calls  his  only  luxuries. 

His  best  market  is  in  summer  at  the  houses  of  his  neighbors, 
the  wealthy  families  from  the  city.  His  mule- wagons  make 
daily  trips  all  the  way  to  Bay  St.  Louis.  The  year  I  visited 
him  he  sold  to  his  neighbors  fifty  thousand  pears  in  small  daily 
lots  at  an  average  price  of  one  cent  each,  while  his  peaches, 
plums,  apricots,  figs  and  grapes  added  a  pretty  sum  to  the 
sales. 

In  the  months  when  the  professor  is  with  his  classes,  and 
the  cottagers  have  returned  to  their  city  residences,  the  farm 
products  are  sent  by  contract  to  certain  city  markets  where 
the  freshest  and  choicest  eatables  are  to  be  found.  Even  in 
sending  goods  to  the  city  market  the  professor  shows  the 
economy  of  a  thoughtful  system.  Every  shipment  is  made  in 
boxes  or  crates  that  can  be  returned  in  nests,  that  is,  one  box 
fits  just  inside  the  next  larger.  All  the  little  cheap  berry - 
baskets  are  bought  in  fiat  bulk  from  the  factory  and,  like  all 


•J 


i6 


A  SOUTHERN  FARM. 


crates  and  boxes,  are  made  in  the  carpenter's  shop  on  the 
farm. 

The  professor's  herd  of  cows  contains  only  the  choice 
breeds.  All  the  milk  he  can  produce  in  summer  finds  a  quick 
sale  in  the  neighborhood.  All  the  butter  he  can  sell  in  winter 
finds  eager  purchasers  at  the  city  market.  He  feeds  to  his 
cows  many  succulent  vegetables  and  fruits  which  would  be 
considered  fine  in  the  city,  for  he  allows  only  the  choicest  and 

best  of  every  product  to  go  to 

 market.    Moreover,  he  will  not 

allow  any  inferior  varieties  of 
plant  or  fruit  tree  to  grow  on 
his  farm.  Yet  there  always  re- 
mains an  abundance  fit  only  for 
food  to  his  large  herd  of  swine. 

One  more  branch  of  farming 
completes  the  professor's  outfit. 
He  has  large  flocks  of  hens, 
turkeys,  ducks  and  geese,  kept 
in  their  proper  pens  and  yards, 
a  few  peacocks,  to  which  the 
liberty  of  the  lawns  is  given  for 
ornament,  and  a  dovecote  of 
pure  white  pigeons. 

Best  of  all,  the  professor  has 
made  his  farm  an  educational  institution.  Every  department 
is  conducted  with  the  best  skill  that  agricultural  colleges  and 
practical  training  have  taught.  There  is  also  some  training  in 
wood  and  iron  work,  for  all  the  carpentry  and  blacksmithing 
necessary  to  the  estate  is  done  under  the  direction  of  a  skilled 
mechanic. 

Most  of  the  work  is  done  by  colored  students  from  a  large 
institution  of  learning  in  the  city.  They  thus  earn  money  to 
pay  their  tuition,  and  they  learn  the  best  methods  of  making  a 
home,  which  many  carry  into  practice  after  graduation. 

The  young  women  are  housekeepers  and  cooks,  they  have 


A  Student's  Window. 


i 


A  SOUTHERN  FARM. 


17 


full  charge  of  the  dairy,  they  pick  the  berries  and  vSmall 
fruits,  and  prepare  all  these  for  market  by  careful  packing  in 
small  boxes  or  baskets.  The  young  men  do  all  the  heavy 
work,  from  plowing  and  seeding  to  gathering  corn  and  picking 
cotton.  By  a  system  of  right-angle  planting  nearly  all  the 
cultivation  is  done  by  mules  with  plow,  harrow  or  horse-hoe, 
and  severe  manual  labor  is  reduced  to  the  minimum. 

The  young  men's  quarters  are  situated  convenient  for 
bathing,  for  in  that  respect  the  professor  is  a  tyrant.  He 
insists  that  in  every  department  there  shall  be  cleanliness  if 
not  godliness.  As  a  token  of  appreciation,  and  help  to 
intelligence,  he  gives  them  a  season  of  rest  in  the  heat  of  the 
day,  and  provides  a  reading-room  which  contains  the  daily 
Picayune  and  several  weekly  papers,  with  religious  and  literary 
publications,  including  the  Youth's  Companion. 

These  things  I  learned  as  I  talked  with  the  professor  on  his 
veranda,  watching  the  lights  twinkle  on  the  waters  of  the  Gulf, 
as  I  walked  with  him  over  his  enchanting  lawn,  and  on 
horseback  as  we  rode  through  the  paths  of  his  fields  and 
pastures. 

All  this  is  the  professor's  play  and  recreation.  His  real 
work  is  molding  the  minds  of  his  many  students,  and  equipping 
souls  with  intelligence  that  develops  into  the  life  eternal. 

Max  Owkn. 


Our  Winter  Home. 


A  Winter  Home  on  the  Gulf. 


After  a  journey  of  thirty-six  hours  we  find  ourselves  in  a 
new  world  as  regards  climate  and  the  beauty  of  the  vegetable 
productions  of  the  country.  The  roads  are  like  plowed  sand, 
the  woods  are  yellow  with  sage-grass  and  bristling  with  pines 
that  look,  in  the  distance,  with  their  straight,  bare  trunks,  not 
unlike  the  palm  of  the  tropics.  A  cloudless  blue  stretches 
above  the  smiling  landscape,  a  brisk,  clear  wind  stirs  the 
orange  leaves,  and  the  sun  smiles  cheerily  over  all. 

The  home  life  on  the  Gulf  is  delightful.  The  children  play 
on  the  wide  verandas  ;  there  the  ladies  of  the  house  gather 
with  their  wicker  chairs  and  work-baskets,  sometimes  wheeling 
the  sewing-machine  out  under  the  leafy  shade,  and  so  dispose 
themselves  for  their  daily  tasks. 

Beyond  is  the  garden,  with  its  lovely  walks.  Near  us 
stands  a  bushel  basket  heaped  with  enormous  oranges,  not  the 
products  of  the  trees  that  stand  in  groups  all  over  the  yard,  for 
their  yield  is  over,  but  grown  about  two  miles  from  here ; 
splendid  specimens  of  the  fruit,  for  which  one  has  to  pay  dearly 
in  Northern  climes. 

Breakfast  is  over,  the  rooms  are  cleaned  and  darkened,  and 
we  look  out  from  our  parlor  on  the  garden  in  front  of  the 
house.  It  comprises  about  an  acre,  and  is  laid  out  in  evergreen 
trees,  among  which  the  live-oak  is  conspicuous.  These  trees 
grow  to  an  immense  size,  and  cast  a  shadow  from  fifty  to  a 
hundred  feet  in  circumference. 

Could  you  see,  as  I  do,  a  group  of  merry  children  in  their 
white  frocks  and  blue  ribbons,  frolicking  under  the  broad- 
spreading  branches,  you  would  find  it  difficult  to  imagine  that 
there  is  winter  anywhere  in  the  world.  The  flower-beds  are 
finished  in  circles  and  heart  shapes,  and  abound  in  a  great 
variety  of  lovely  flowering  shrubs. 

One  of  these  is  the  century  plant,  whose  bristling  clumps, 


20 


A  WINTKR  HOME  ON  THK  GULF. 


rich  with  the  life  of  over  a  hundred  years,  stand  up  like  giants 
with  their  myriad  spike-like  leaves.  Not  far  from  them  are 
immense  cacti  with  pear-shaped  leaves,  in  the  midst  of  which, 
before  many  weeks,  will  come  bursting  forth  magnificent 
crimson  flowers,  to  challenge  the  admiration  of  the  looker-on, 
and  intoxicate  the  senses  with  their  delicious  perfume. 

Above  our  heads  the  yellow  jasmine  shakes  down  its 
flowers  of  starry  gold,  and  these,  too,  fill  all  the  morning  air 
with  fragrance.  The  oleanders  are  not  yet  in  bloom,  but  their 
graceful  forms  and  thick,  bright  leaves  add  much  to  the 
beauty  of  the  garden.  L<oveliest  of  all  the  flowers  is  the  cape 
jasmine.  Imagine  a  bush,  or  small  tree,  every  leaf  glistening 
as  if  varnished,  blooming  all  over  with  great  white  flowers  as 
finished  and  as  beautiful  as  the  white  camellia,  and  of  the  most 
exquisite  perfume. 

Over  the  porch  hangs  the  crimson  honeysuckle  in  clusters, 
and  at  intervals  lines  of  orange-trees  form  a  vista  that  makes  a 
scene  of  enchantment.  Nothing  is  more  lovely  than  the 
orange-tree  in  bloom,  except  the  magnolia.  Northern  gardens 
cherish  the  puniest  specimens,  but  here  stands  a  magnolia 
sixty  feet  high,  every  leaf  as  polished  as  if  coated  with  wax. 

Though  there  are  no  flowers  observable,  yet  the  time  of 
bloom  is  very  near,  and  the  tree  is  bursting  with  buds.  In  a 
few  weeks  its  subtle,  delicious  perfume  will  invade  the  house 
and  make  the  air  as  odorous  as  if  invisible  lily-buds  were 
floating  by  on  every  breeze,  or  angels  bringing  the  spices  of 
the  gardens  of  paradise. 

Here,  there  and  everywhere  the  roses  stand,  great, 
strong-limbed  bushes  with  vigorous,  beautiful  buds,  ready  to 
put  on  their  rich  garments.  Here  the  rose  has  no  enemies  to 
encounter.  The  worm  at  the  root  is  never  known,  and  no 
colonies  of  green,  swarming  pests  vex  the  soul  of  the  garden- 
lover.  Everywhere  roses  grow  side  by  side  with  monster  beds 
of  geranium  in  all  its  variety  of  color,  from  flaming  crimson  to 
pearly  white,  while  between  are  beds  of  verbena,  callas, 
pomegranates  and  crape  myrtle. 


A  WINTKR  HOME  ON  THE  GUI^F. 


21 


Outside  of  the  pretty,  ornamental  plants  are  stout,  scrubby 
fig-trees,  all  starting  out  for  the  season.  Now  to  have  your 
own  figs  for  winter  use  is  no  mean  experience.  The  people 
her^  know  how  to  put  them  up,  and  they  make  a  delicious 
preserve. 

Let  us  step  beyond  the  fence  enclosing  this  paradise,  to  the 
lot  beyond  where  stand  the  peach-trees,  cloudy  with  their  pink 
blooms.  Here  are  the  forcing  beds,  thick  with  cucumber-vines 
and  young  tomato-plants.  Farther  on  are  green  peas,  almost 
ready  for  picking  for  the  table. 

Yonder  are  cabbages  of  full  growth  and  every  variety, 
radishes,  young  beets,  sweet  potatoes  and  celery.  These  are 
planted  between  rows  of  sturdy  orange-trees,  each  of  which 
bears  four  or  five  thousand  oranges  a  season.  Perhaps  the 
most  beautiful  sight  of  all  is  an  orange-grove  of  from  ten  to 
twenty  acres,  loaded  with  fruit. 

It  is  pleasing  to  meet  polished  and  cultivated  men  and 
women  where  expectation  had  pictured  a  meagre  civilization. 
It  is  no  unusual  thing  to  welcome  an  assemblage  of  neighbors 
from  a  radius  of  ten  to  fifteen  miles  around. 

At  the  house  where  we  are  staying  forty  carriages  brought 
their  loads  of  human  life.  Every  family  had  prepared  a  basket 
of  delicacies,  so  that  the  supper-table  was  loaded  with  good 
things.  In  that  gathering  were  representatives  of  fifteen 
different  states,  and  all  of  them  people  of  refinement.  There 
were  recitations,  readings,  music  of  violin,  organ  and  guitar, 
and  no  mean  music  at  that.  Everybody  brought  his  quota  of 
information,  and  dancing  closed  the  order  of  the  evening. 

It  was  a  picturesque  sight  to  see  them  taking  their  departure 
at  midnight :  the  teams  standing  about  the  house  in  the  vivid 
moonlight ;  here  and  there  father  and  daughter  on  splendid 
horses,  the  young  men  in  the  saddle  riding  off,  after  making 
their  adieus,  with  many  a  laugh  and  cheer  down  the  long 
orange-bordered  avenue.  It  was  like  a  scene  out  of  a  novel, 
and  one  never  to  be  forgotten. 

M.  A.  Dknison. 


Lights  of  the  Florida  Reefs. 


No  more  important  or  interesting  chain  of  lights  exists  on 
any  part  of  the  American  coast  than  those  which  flash  their 
brilliant  rays  over  the  two  hundred  miles  of  coral  reefs 
bounding  the  southern  extremity  of  Florida. 

The  terrible  Florida  reef,  with  its  bewildering  maze  of 
shoals,  tortuous  channels,  fierce  currents  and  coral  heads  lifted 
almost  to  the  surface,  is  an  ever  present  menace  to  the  mariners 
of  those  waters.  Since  the  date  of  its  discovery  it  has  probably 
been  the  cause  of  more  disasters  than  any  other  region  of 
similar  extent  in  the  world. 

Proud  British  frigates  and  treasure-laden  Spanish  galleons, 
merchant  ships  of  every  nation,  coasting  schooners  and  fishing 
craft  have  been  enticed  into  its  siren-like  embrace,  and  paid 
tribute  to  it  with  their  lives. 

A  startling  record  is  that  of  the  Spanish  treasure-fleet  of 
thirteen  galleons  which  sailed  from  Vera  Cruz  in  1737,  and 
yielded  twelve  of  its  number  to  the  demands  of  this  all- 
devouring  reef. 

The  seaward  face  of  the  reef  drops  abruptly  into  the 
fathomless  depths  of  the  Gulf  Stream.  Inside  of  its  coral 
banks  is  a  broad  channel  of  smooth  water,  beyond  which  lies 
a  parallel  chain  of  palm-covered  keys,  or  islands,  of  great 
fertility  and  beauty. 

For  upward  of  three  centuries  these  reefs,  channels  and 
low-lying  keys  afforded  a  very  paradise  for  pirates,  buccaneers 
and  wreckers.  In  their  swift,  light-draught  schooners  these 
freebooters  threaded  the  shallow  passages  with  impunity,  and 
defied  capture.  They  had  innumerable  retreats  among  the 
keys,  where  they  lay  concealed  beyond  the  chance  of  discovery. 

It  is  only  in  the  present  century  that  our  government  has 
found  time  to  hunt  out  these  freebooters,  and  penetrate  their 
fastnesses  with  small  but  powerfully  armed  vessels  of  as  light 


tiGHTS  OF  THK  FLORIDA  RKEFS. 


23 


draught  as  their  own  ;  and  it  is  within  fifty  years  that  the  first 
reef  light  of  the  present  splendid  system  was  erected. 

Before  that  there  were  two  brick  lighthouses,  one  at  Cape 
Florida,  on  the  coast,  inside  the  northern  extremity  of  the 
reef,  and  the  other  at  Key  West,  though  a  fourth-order  light 
was  shown  above  a  bastion  of  Fort  Jefferson,  at  the  Tortugas, 
as  early  as  1825. 

To  erect  a  number  of  masonry  towers,  the  material  for 
which  must  be  transported  over  a  thousand  miles,  seemed  too 
great  a  task  to  be  undertaken.  Thus  it  was  not  until  after  the 
introduction  of  iron  screw  piles  for  foundations  that  it  was 
deemed  feasible  to  light  the  entire  reef. 

In  1852  an  iron  tower  one  hundred  and  six  feet  high, 
upheld  by  a  pyramidal  framework  of  iron  trusses,  and  resting 
on  a  foundation  of  iron  piles 
screwed  into  the  coral  rock, 
was  erected  above  Carysfort 
reef,  where  it  rises  to  within 
two  feet  of  the  surface.  The 
building  of  this  tower  was 
accompanied  by  the  bitter 
curses  of  the  wreckers  ;  and 
when  the  first  beams  of  its 
powerful  light  flashed  far 
and  wide  over  those  dreaded 
waters,  the}^  realized  that 
their  occupation  was  gone. 

Sand  Key  light  was  built 
the  following  year.  Som- 
brero in  1857,  and  the  light 
on  lyOggerhead  Key,  the 
most  western  of  the  Tortu- 
gas, in  1858.  This  last  is 
the  only  brick  structure  on  the  reef.  Then  the  Civil  War 
interfered,  and  the  next  reef  light,  known  as  Alligator,  was 
f  not  erected  until  1873.    In  1878  the  old  Cape  Florida  light 


I^IGHTS  OF  THE  FLORIDA  REEFS. 


was  discontinued  in  favor  of  the  splendid  new  one  set  on  Fowey 
Rocks,  seven  miles  out  at  sea,  on  the  northern  extremity  of 
the  reef.  Both  this  light  and  Carysfort,  which  is  the  next  one 
to  it,  preserve  the  names  of  two  British  frigates  cast  away  at 
these  points. 

The  Fowey  Rocks  light  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  structures 
of  its  kind  on  our  coast.    It  was  first  set  up  in  Fairmount  Park, 

at  Philadelphia,  during  the  Cen- 
tennial Exhibition,  as  a  typical 
American  lighthouse. 

The  old  tower  on  Cape  Florida, 
which  witnessed  many  a  stirring 
incident  during  the  palmy  days  of 
piracy  on  that  coast,  during  the 
two  Indian  wars  that  raged  about 
it,  and  during  that  of  the  rebel- 
lion, became  the  headquarters  of 
the  Biscayne  Bay  Yacht  Club,  the 
most  southerly  organization  of  its 
kind  in  the  United  States.  In  1880  the  American  Shoal  light, 
twenty  miles  east  of  Sand  Key,  was  erected,  and  in  1886  the 
long  chain  of  flashing  beacons  was  made  complete  by  the  build- 
ing of  a  lighthouse  on  Rebecca  Shoal,  eighteen  miles  to  the 
eastward  of  the  Tortugas. 

These  structures  are  similar  in  character,  and  rest  on 
foundations  of  iron  piling.  With  the  exception  of  Sand  Key 
light,  which  occupies  a  tiny  islet  of  sand  and  shells,  the  most 
southerly  bit  of  territory  under  the  stars  and  stripes,  they  all 
stand  in  the  water. 

In  each  the  lowest  platform,  about  ten  feet  above  the 
surface,  is  used  for  the  storing  of  boats  and  fuel.  Ten  feet 
higher  up  is  another  platform  surrounded  by  a  railing.  On  this 
rests  a  huge  iron  cylinder,  resembling  the  turret  of  a  monitor, 
which  is  divided  into  rooms.  It  is  the  house  in  which  the 
keepers  live,  and  where  all  their  provisions,  as  well  as  a  year's 
supply  of  oil  for  the  light,  are  stored. 


American  Shoal  Light. 


I.IGHTS  OF  THK  FI^OKIDA  RKKFS. 


25 


In  some  cases  this  house  is  of  two  stories,  when  it  is  very 
roomy  and  comfortable.  From  the  centre  of  the  dwelling  rises 
a  slender  iron  tower  in  which  a  spiral  stairway  leads  up  to  the 
laxitern,  lifted  from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
above  the  water. 

In  these  isolated  reef  structures,  where  the  only  sights  are 
sky  and  water,  with  a  low  line  of  distant  keys  on  one  hand  and 
the  passing  ships  on  the  other,  life  is  not  so  terrible  as  might 
be  supposed.  There  are  three  keepers  to  each  light,  and  one 
of  them  is  nearly  always  off  on  vacation.  Consequently  the 
time  of  the  others  is  fully  occupied. 

They  must  keep  their  lamp  in  order,  and  every  bit  of  glass 
and  bright  metal  about  the  lantern  polished  until  it  glistens. 
Their  house  must  at  all  times  be  spotlessly  clean,  and  as  neat 
as  the  deck  of  a  man-of-war.  Its  exterior  must  be  kept 
painted,  its  boats  must  always  be  in  order,  and  a  daily  record 
must  be  kept  of  all  passing  vessels.  Then  the  keepers  must 
cook,  eat  and  sleep. 

In  spite  of  these  manifold  duties,  they  find  time  for  reading 
and  study.    A  presiding  officer  of 
the  Florida  Senate  studied  law 
and  fitted  himself  for  admission 
to  the  bar  while  acting  as  assistant 
keeper  in  a  reef  lighthouse. 
Several  other  young  stu- 
dents of  my  acquaintance  - 
pursued  the  same  course. 

A  reef  lighthouse  is 
always  well  supplied  with 
the  latest  novels,  maga- 
zines and  papers  by  New 
York  steamers  that  pass  close  to  it  every  day.  A  keeper  puts 
out  from  the  light  in  a  small  boat.  The  mate  of  an  approach- 
ing steamer  has  already  collected  such  papers,  magazines  and 
novels  as  the  passengers  are  willing  to  spare,  done  them  up  in 
a  bundle,  and  tied  them  to  a  billet  of  wood. 


Sand  Key  Light. 


26 


LIGHTS  OF  THK  FLORIDA  RFEFS. 


I 


As  the  steamer  passes  the  waiting  boat,  the  package  is 
tossed  overboard.  The  lighthouse  man  waves  his  thanks, 
captures  the  dripping  prize,  and  carries  it  back  to  his  iron 
dwelling,  where  its  contents  are  sorted  and  dried. 

Often  the  steamer  slows  up  long  enough  for  him  to  exchange 
a  thirty-pound  kingfish  or  a  fine  string  of  Spanish  mackerel 
with  the  steward  for  a  piece  of  Northern  beef  or  mutton,  and 
perhaps  a  cake  of  ice.  The  light-keepers  are  far  better  supplied 
with  news,  literature,  fresh  meat  and  other  luxuries  than  their 
shore  neighbors  of  the  keys. 

The  reef  lights  are  surrounded  by  some  of  the  most  wonder- 
ful marine  gardens  in  the  world.  The  water  above  which  they 
stand  is  perfectly  clear.  From  the  bottom  rise  delicate  coral 
forms,  sponges,  sea-fans  and  feathers  of  vivid  colors,  and 
forests  of  exquisite  algae.  Amid  these  dart  thousands  of 
strange  fish,  brilliant  of  hue  and  curiously  marked.  Here  the 
lighthouse  man  fishes  or  gathers  curios,  and  w^hiles  away  many 
an  hour  of  the  bright  tropic  days. 

He  cannot  make  a  home  of  his  lighthouse  by  having  his 
family  with  him,  for  a  rule  of  the  department  forbids  any 
woman  to  spend  a  night  in  one  of  these  reef  beacons  ;  but  he 
may  visit  his  wife  once  a  month  if  he  chooses,  and  spend  nearly 
a  third  of  his  time  at  home. 

Thus,  on  the  whole,  the  life  of  a  reef  lightkeeper  is  not  an 
unhappy  one,  and  there  are  always  more  applicants  for  the 
positions  than  there  are  vacancies  to  be  filled. 

Kirk  Munroe. 


Florida  Wreckers. 


Curiously  enough,  the  term  wreckers,  formerly  applied  to 
those  who  sought  to  wreck  ships  for  the  sake  of  plunder,  has 
come  to  signify  those  who  save  ships.  In  Florida  the  wrecker 
of  to-day  is  one  who  strives  to  rescue  ships  from  destruction, 
who  often  perils  his  own  life  for  his  fellows,  and  whose 
legitimate  business  is  the  recovery  of  cargoes  that  but  for  his 
efforts  would  be  irredeemably  lost. 

Of  the  entire  American  coast,  no  portion  has  so  many 
wrecks  in  a  year  as  the  great  reef  stretching  for  two  hundred 
miles  from  Cape  Florida  to  the  Dry  Tortugas.  Consequently 
nowhere  else  does  the  trade  of  wrecking  so  flourish.  But  the 
lighting  of  the  reef  from  end  to  end  has  seriously  affected 
the  prosperity  of  the  trade,  and  the  lawful  wrecker  of  to-day 
obtains  insufficient  means  for  the  prodigality  that  marked  his 
lawless  predecessor  of  fifty  years  ago. 

The  city  of  Key  West  owed  its  foundation  and  its  very 
existence  up  to  the  time  of  the  Civil  War  to  the  gains  of 
wrecking.  The  same  occupation  built  up  a  riotous  rival  town 
on  a  key  half-way  up  the  reef.  To-day  this  island  is  as  lonely 
and  bare  of  any  traces  of  its  wrecker  occupants  as  Key  West 
might  be  did  it  not  occupy  a  commanding  position  on  one  of 
the  great  ocean  highways. 

In  spite  of  being  lighted,  buoyed  and  carefully  charted,  this 
vast  web  of  reefs  still  destroys  many  a  helpless  vessel,  and 
wrecking  is  still  an  occupation  in  which  every  dweller  along  its 
length  is  intensely  interested. 

Between  the  Bahamas  and  the  Florida  coast  the  Gulf 
Stream  rushes  northward  with  an  average  velocity  of  four  miles 
an  hour.  To  escape  the  strength  of  this  current,  the  weekly 
fleets  of  steamers  from  Northern  and  foreign  ports  hug  the 
coast  as  closely  as  they  dare.  Now  and  then  one  of  them 
brings  up  with  a  grinding  crash  on  some  outlying  shoal  or 


28 


FLORIDA  WRECKERS. 


coral  head  that  had  not  been  allowed  for  in  the  captain's 
calculations ;  or  some  becalmed  sailing-vessel  is  insidiously 
drawn  toward  the  reef  by  the  treacherous  currents. 

When  there  are  no  wrecks  in  sight,  there  is  always  plenty 
of  wrecked  material  coming  ashore,  especially  on  the  strip  of 
beach  extending  northward  for  thirty  or  forty  miles  from  Cape 
Florida.  Nearly  everything  which  finds  its  way  into  the  water 
along  the  whole  line  of  the  reef  is  borne  opposite  to  this  point 
by  the  current  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  and  then  driven  ashore  by 
the  northeast  trade-winds  sweeping  around  the  upper  end  of 
the  Bahama  Islands. 

Some  winters  ago  an  old,  unseaworthy  Spanish  barque, 
deeply  laden  with  wines  and  bound  for  Havana,  had  nearly 
reached  her  destination,  and  was  within  sight  of  Morro  Castle, 
when  she  was  driven  out  to  sea  by  an  offshore  gale,  and 
foundered  near  the  Tortugas.  A  month  later  her  entire  cargo 
of  great  pipes  of  red  wine  and  casks  of  sherry  was  cast  ashore 
on  the  beach  just  north  of  Cape  Florida,  two  hundred  miles 
from  the  scene  of  the  wreck. 

The  first  person  to  discover  this  treasure  was  a  Frenchman 
who  visited  the  beach  in  search  of  wrecked  lumber  with  which 
to  build  a  house.  His  one  complaint  against  that  wild  section 
of  this  country  had  been  that  in  it  he  could  not  obtain  the 
cheap  wines  of  his  native  land.  Now  to  find  what  he  had  most 
longed  for  in  such  quantities  as  he  had  never  dreamed  of,  and 
to  be  had  for  the  taking,  seemed  to  him  little  short  of 
miraculous. 

He  returned  to  the  settlement  across  the  bay  in  a  state 
of  the  wildest  excitement,  bearing  his  wonderful  news.  At 
that  time  there  were  not  fifty  white  men  to  a  hundred  miles  of 
that  coast,  and  they  were  widely  scattered.  But  before  nightfall 
they  were  all  on  the  beach,  rolling  the  oaken  pipes  and  casks 
up  from  the  breakers  to  places  of  safety. 

Every  man  put  his  private  mark,  which  was  respected  by 
all  the  others,  on  the  packages  that  he  rescued  from  the 
breakers,  or  claimed  by  priority  of  discovery  half-buried  in 


FI^ORIDA  WRKCKKRS. 


29 


the  sand.  All  were  jubilant  over  the  wealth  they  were  to 
acquire  by  the  sale  of  this  gift  of  the  sea.  One  man,  aided  by 
his  two  sons,  secured  over  five  thousand  gallons  of  wine,  that 
he  was  confident  would  yield  him  one  dollar  per  gallon. 

During  the  ensuing  week  he  conceived  numerous  brilliant 
schemes  for  the  investment  of  his  wealth.  Suddenly  they  were 
all  rudely  dispelled  by  a  mandate  from  the  Collector  at  Key 


West,  to  the  effect  that,  since  the  wine  had  landed  without 
paying  duty,  none  of  it  could  be  sold. 

Then  ensued  such  a  scene  of  riotous  waste  as  I  never 
beheld  before  or  since.  In  their  rage  against  this  decision, 
men  beat  in  the  heads  of  the  pipes  and  casks,  until  the  thirsty 
sands  were  deluged  by  torrents  of  Spanish  wine.  Some  was 
saved  in  bottles  and  jugs ;  but  these  were  so  scarce  that 
probably  not  over  a  hundred  gallons  was  rescued  in  this  way. 

Cotton  is  much  more  satisfactory  ;  for  even  water-soaked 
and  sanded  cotton  is  worth  fifteen  dollars  per  bale.  Therefore, 
whenever  cotton  is  reported  as  being  on  the  beach,  the  wildest 
kind  of  a  race  ensues. 

Men  hurry  across  the  bay  in  any  kind  of  a  craft  that  will 


Bales  of  Cotton  from  a  Wreck. 


30 


FI.ORIDA  WRECKERS. 


float,  and  then  on  foot  up  the  beach.  Each  man  marks  the 
bales  that  he  reaches  first  as  his  property,  by  leaving  on  them 
bits  of  his  personal  belongings— a  hat,  a  handkerchief,  a  knife, 
even  a  shirt,  anything  will  do. 

A  bit  of  wood  with  the  claimant's  name  scrawled  on  it  is 
sufiicient  to  make  good  his  claim,  and  cause  it  to  be  respected 
by  those  who  come  after  him. 

If  all  the  bales  were  already  on  the  beach  the  swiftest 
runners  would  secure  more  than  their  share  of  the  spoils  ;  but 
most  of  the  bales  are  still  in  the  breakers,  from  which  they 
must  be  dragged  and  placed  beyond  the  reach  of  high  water. 

Squared  logs  of  mahogany  and  Spanish  cedar  are  every-day 
finds  on  this  beach,  and  so  much  yellow  pine  timber  comes 
ashore  that  every  house  in  the  adjacent  settlement  is  framed  of 
it.  On  the  piazzas  of  these  houses  may  be  seen  steamer  chairs 
that  have  come  from  the  beach. 

A  baby's  cradle  was  picked  up  last  winter  b}^  a  wrecker,  in 
whose  family  it  was  a  prime  necessity  just  then  ;  and  nearly 
every  man  in  the  settlement  owns  a  derelict  boat.  So  the  list 
of  curious  and  useful  things  yielded  by  that  kindly  beach 
might  be  continued  indefinitely. 

Every  man  on  the  reef  who  owns  a  boat  of  five  tons'  burden 
or  upwards  can  become  a  wrecker  by  paying  a  yearly  fee  of 
two  dollars,  and  obtaining  a  license  from  the  United  States 
Admiralty  Court  in  Key  West ;  and  there  are  very  few  who 
neglect  to  avail  themselves  of  this  privilege. 

With  this  license  in  his  pocket  the  wrecker  is  so  keenly  on 
the  lookout  for  stranded  or  distressed  vessels  that  a  ship  can 
hardly  touch  on  any  point  of  the  reef  before  several  small 
schooners  are  seen  hurrying  toward  her  from  the  low-lying  keys 
that  form  a  continuous  chain  behind  it. 

If  the  captain  of  the  stranded  vessel  refuses  assistance,  the 
wreckers  must  keep  off,  and  no  one  from  them  is  allowed  on 
board.    Then  they  anchor  and  await  developments. 

When  the  captain  has  exhausted  his  own  resources  and 
asks  for  aid,  the  first  licensed  wrecker  to  set  foot  on  the  vessel's 


X 


FivORIDA  WRECKKRS.  3 1 

deck  becomes  wreck-master,  and  takes  entire  charge  of  the 
operations  of  lightening  the  ship,  running  kedges,  and  either 
getting  her  off  or  saving  the  cargo. 

Any  agreement  entered  into  between  him  and  the  captain 
as  to  the  amount  of  salvage  to  be  paid  is  equally  binding  upon 
the  wreckers  and  the  ship's  owners. 

If  the  vessel  is  given  up  and  only  the  cargo  is  saved,  this 
must  be  taken  to  Key  West  and  sold  at  public  auction  by  a 
United  States  marshal.  Of  the  proceeds,  half  goes  to  the 
underwriters  and 

half  to  the  wreckers.  .^-^    "  "  ""^-r*^ 

The  latter  portion 
is  divided  equally 
between  the  wreck- 
ing boats  and  their  / 

crews.  "  The  amount      f^^^f.    ^  ^  ^ 

allotted  to  each  crew  '^^^  \ 

is  divided  into  as  ^ 
many  shares  as  there 

Running  to  the  Wreck. 

are  men  on  board. 

The  prize  most  eagerly  desired  by  the  wreckers  is  a  general 
cargo  wreck,  such  as  was  afforded  by  the  Ward  line  steamer 
Ci(y  of  Alexandria  in  the  spring  of  1890,  when  the  beach  was 
strewn  for  miles  with  provisions,  clothing,  pianos,  sewing- 
machines,  cases  of  imitation  jewelry,  and  the  thousand  articles 
that  comprise  a  freight  of  general  merchandise. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  stranded  steamer  loaded  with  railroad 
iron,  cement,  or  coal,  that  invariably  floats  as  soon  as  she  has 
thrown  overboard  her  cargo,  which  as  invariably  sinks,  is 
regarded  as  much  worse  than  no  wreck  at  all. 


Kirk  Munrok. 


The  Florida  Everglades, 


Several  attempts  have  been  made  to  penetrate  the 
Everglades.  One  party  was  sent  out  by  the  United  States 
Government,  but  the  difficulties  in  the  way  seemed  insur- 
moi^ntable,  and  the  explorers  turned  back,  baffled,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  the  quest. 

The  New  Orleans  Times-Democrat  in  1883  equipped  a  party, 
which, under  the  command  of  Major  Archibald  P.  Williams, 
set  out  to  explore  the  Everglades  from  a  northern  point  to 
Whitewater  Bay  in  the  extreme  south. 

The  explorers  coasted  the  southern  shore  of  Lake  Okee- 
chobee, in  search  of  some  outlet  which  would  enable  them  to 
penetrate  the  dense  jungle  which  borders  the  Everglades,  and 
came  to  the  mouth  of  a  river  running  in  the  direction  of  the 
Everglades.  The  stream  was  one  hundred  yards  wide  and 
eight  feet  deep,  the  water  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  it  had  no 
perceptible  current. 

Hoping  that  this  stream  would  take  them  some  distance  in 
the  right  direction,  they  entered  it  full  of  hope.  The  banks 
were  beautiful,  fringed  with  a  dense  tropical  growth  of  trees 
and  shrubs,  which  presented  a  wall  of  vivid  green  to  the  eye. 

Two  miles  farther  and  the  river  narrowed.  The  walls 
of  foliage  almost  met ;  large  roots  and  low-lying  branches 
forbade  further  movement  in  that  stream.  The  line  of 
alligators  in  their  wake  increased,  and  they  found  that  the 
river  ends  in  an  impenetrable  morass,  or  swamp. 

The  explorers  returned  to  camp,  and  upon  investigating 
the  shore,  found  the  mouths  of  eight  rivers,  all  running  south 
and  in  the  right  direction.  To  six  of  these  rivers  boats  were 
assigned,  with  instructions  to  follow  them  as  far  as  possible. 
When  the  report  was  brought  into  camp  that  night,  one 
sufficed  for  all.  The  rivers  ran  only  one  or  two  miles,  and 
then  ended  suddenly  in  swamps. 

They  decided  upon  one,  the  Rita  River,  as  the  point  of 


THE  FivORIDA  KVKRGIvADKS. 


33 


departure.  It  took  them  within  half  a  mile  of  the  marsh 
which  bordered  the  Everglades,  and  which  they  now  decided 
they  had  to  penetrate  by  some  means  or  other. 

The  next  day  the  hard  work  began  and  the  compass  was 
the  only  guide.    The  river  had  ended  in  a  dense  swamp  of 


Discouragements  of  the  Journey. 


custard-apple.  Axes  and  machetes  were  employed  to  cut 
away  trees  and  vines,  and  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day 
the  explorers  found  themselves  in  a  marsh  of  grass  and 
scrub- willows  with  five  inches  of  water  and  fifteen  feet  of  mud. 

Climbing  a  tree  to  take  observations,  they  saw  south  of  them 
only  an  interminable  marsh.    There  was  no  use  discussing  the 


34 


THK  FLORIDA  EVKRGLADKS. 


situation.  Orders  were  given  for  every  man  to  go  overboard, 
and  overboard  they  went ;  and  the  canoes  were  propelled 
inch  by  inch  through  the  mud. 

The  difficulty  of  getting  through  the  grass  was  so  great 
that  Major  Williams  decided  to  fire  it.  The  men  suffered 
terribly  from  their  legs  and  feet  coming  in  contact  with  the 
roots  of  the  wampee,  w^hich  produces  a  burning  and  stinging 
sensation,  as  if  the  skin  had  been  rubbed  off,  and  red  pepper 
rubbed  in. 

In  pursuit  of  scientific  information,  Major  Williams  tasted 
the  wampee.  A  thousand  needles  seemed  pricking  every 
nerve  of  his  face  for  hours  afterward,  and  the  pain  was 
maddening. 

Two  men  w^ho  had  been  sent  ahead  to  fire  the  grass,  found 
one  foot  of  water  about  two  miles  and  a  half  from  camp.  This 
was  encouraging  news,  as  the  progress  by  pushing  the  canoes 
through  the  mud  was  painful  and  wearisome  in  the  extreme. 

But  the  explorers  found  their  route  to  the  desired  water  was 
beset  with  new  difficulties.  They  had  to  penetrate  not  only 
the  marsh-grass,  but  a  species  of  scrub-willow  with  small 
stems,  but  having  roots  as  large  as  a  man's  leg,  which  reached 
several  yards  outward  and  lay  a  few  inches  below  the  surface 
of  the  water. 

As  the  canoes  were  only  a  fifth  of  an  inch  thick,  to  snag  a 
hole  in  one  of  them  would  mean  its  abandonment.  The 
bateaux,  with  provisions,  were  unable  to  pass  these  obstruc- 
tions, so  the  men  went  ahead  with  machetes  to  cut  a  way. 

It  was  hard  work,  and  the  expedition  advanced  one  day 
only  three-quarters  of  a  mile.  In  fact,  on  the  fourth  day  from 
Lake  Okeechobee,  their  progress  had  been  so  slow  that  they 
never  lost  sight  of  a  large  cypress-tree  standing  at  the  point 
of  their  departure  from  the  lake. 

The  next  morning  a  survey  was  taken  from  the  high  mast  of 
the  bateau.  The  prospect  was  one  unlimited  expanse  of  tall 
marsh-grass.  They  were  unable  to  distinguish  where  the  marsh- 
grass  ended,  and  instead  of  ten  miles  of  this  grass,  which 


THK  FLORIDA  KVKRGLADE:S. 


35 


they  had  anticipated,  the  field-glass  showed  a  boundless  extent 
of  it. 

By  firing  the  grass  in  front  they  made  slow  headway,  and 
the  men  were  discouraged.  Moccasin  snakes  slipped  between 
their  legs  as  they  crawled  through  the  mud  ;  alligator  snouts 
were  at  their  backs,  though  they  never  were  attacked  by  them  ; 


Alligators  in  the  Waters  of  the  Everglades. 


the  wampee  stung  them,  and  clouds  of  mosquitoes  added  to  the 
general  miseries. 

After  two  weeks  they  saw  two  columns  of  smoke  about  ten 
miles  to  the  southwest,  which  they  understood  were  made  b}^ 
Indians.  Their  smokes  were  quickly  answered  to  the  front 
and  westward  by  similar  smokes. 

Four  days  later  they  sighted  the  cypress  timber  which  lines 


36 


THE  FLORIDA  EVERGLADES. 


the  western  border  of  the  Everglades.  That  day  numerous 
flocks  of  ducks  and  curlews  flew  overhead,  and  they  killed  a 
supply  of  them.  The  next  day  they  entered  a  basin,  and  found 
on  its  banks  five  feet  square  of  dry  ground,  the  first  seen  since 
leaving  Lake  Okeechobee.  In  three  days  more  they  reached 
the  first  island  of  the  Everglades,  and  entered  the  grassy 
waters  which  surround  it. 

The  island  is  about  three  miles  in  extent,  and  covered  with 
wild  fig  and  custard-apple-trees,  with  about  twenty  feet  of  dry 
ground.  From  the  top  of  a  high  tree  they  could  see  hundreds 
of  little  islands,  divided  from  each  other  by  grassy  waters. 
There  the  weary  explorers  camped,  to  mend  their  boats  and 
rest  from  the  fatigue  of  their  toilsome  journey. 

The  men  suffered,  too,  from  leech  bites,  which  pests  had 
fastened  upon  their  legs  and  feet  in  the  mud.  After  that  the 
difficulties  were  over.  There  was  plenty  of  water  for  the  boats. 
The  islands  grew  thicker  as  they  went  on,  and  the  timber  on 
them  was  larger.  The  signal  smokes  of  the  Indians  were  seen 
constantly,  but  none  approached  the  expedition. 

There  is  little  dry  land  on  any  of  the  islands,  and  some 
are  so  infested  with  snakes  that  the  men  were  not  willing  to 
risk  a  landing.  The  bottom  of  the  basin  of  the  Everglades  is 
solid  rock,  and  as  the  men  moved  on  they  found  this  rock 
beginning  to  crop  out  above  the  surface,  and  they  were  obliged 
to  lift  their  canoes  over  the  ledges. 

At  the  end  of  one  month  they  reached  Shark's  River,  and 
soon  found  themselves  in  Whitewater  Bay,  thus  coming  out  in 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  without  diverging  a  mile  east  or  west  from 
their  due  southern  course. 

The  result  of  the  expedition  proves  that  the  Everglades  is 
an  irreclaimable  marsh,  and  for  ages  to  come  will  remain  so. 
It  cannot  be  drained,  the  rocky  barrier  which  surrounds  it 
offering  almost  insurmountable  obstacles.  No  telegraph  line 
can  be  established  or  kept  up  in  it,  and  it  is  safe  to  predict  that 
white  men  will  not  soon  brave  its  perils. 

M.  B.  Williams. 


A  Tree  That  Builds  Islands. 


•  Along  the  low,  sandy  shores  of  southern  Florida  there  grows 
the  small,  round-headed  mangrove,  a  tropical  tree  which  may 
well  be  called  a  vegetable  wonder.  It  has  glossy  oval  leaves, 
and  grows  in  shallow  water  along  the  shores  of  the  sea,  or  on 
muddy  or  sandy  banks  that  are  submerged  at  every  high  tide. 

Shortly  after  the  blossoms  open  in  July  the  seeds  ripen,  but 
do  not  fall  off  to  germinate  in  the  ground,  as  most  seeds  do. 
They  sprout  at  once,  but  remain  on  the  tree,  and  send  out  a 
long  radicle  or  main  root. 

This  curious  root  is  about  the  color  of  a  cigar,  but  is  lighter 
on  the  point,  or  lower  end.  It  sometimes  attains  a  length  of  a 
foot  or  more,  and  the  size  of  one's  little  finger,  and  when  the 
trees  are  loaded  with  them,  hanging  thickly  from  every  branch, 
the  sight  is  strange  indeed. 

When  they  have  received  all  the  nourishment  they  need 
from  the  parent  tree,  they  let  go  and  drop,  usually  into  the 
water,  not,  however,  until  they  have  formed  a  leaf-bud  and 
often  a  pair  of  shining  young  leaves.  Millions  of  these  man- 
groves, for  they  are  no  longer  seeds,  but  3^oung  trees,  may  be 
seen  floating  about  the  bays  and  on  the  open  water  along  the 
shores  of  the  southern  half  of  the  state. 

Most  plants  would  soon  perish  cruising  about  in  this  way 
in  salt  water,  but,  like  an  old  sailor,  no  matter  which  way  the 
wind  blows  or  the  tide  drifts,  they  are  perfectly  at  home  on 
the  sea.  The  light-colored  end  of  the  root  being  a  little  larger 
and  heavier  than  the  other,  sinks  below  the  surface,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  wanderings  of  our  young  tree  it  usually  sends  out 
several  small  rootlets,  so  that  it  is  ready  at  once  to  begin  the 
business  of  life  as  soon  as  it  reaches  a  suitable  place. 

By  and  by  it  drifts  into  some  partly  sheltered  ba}^  or  in 
behind  a  low,,  sandy  island,  and  its  heavier  end  strikes  the 
mud  in  the  shallow  water.    The  motion  of  the  waves  drills 


38 


A  TRKK  THAT  BUILDS  ISLANDS. 


the  point  into  the  mud,  the  fibrous  roots  catch  hold,  and  our 
wandering  mangrove  comes  to  anchor  for  life,  and  is  as  much 
at  home  as  if  it  had  alwa3'S  lived  there. 

After  the  plant  is  established,  the  stem  grows  up  erect  and 
rather  slender  for  some  distance,  when  it  throws  out,  from  a 


A  Mangrove  Swamp. 


height  of  several  feet  above  the  water,  an  air-root,  with  a  point 
almost  exactly  like  that  which  the  seed  had  when  it  was 
growing  on  the  parent  tree. 

This  new  root  arches  over  and  out  in  an  easy,  graceful- 
curve  until  it  reaches  the  muddy  bottom,  where  it  throws  out 
fibres  and  forms  at  once  a  strong  buttress  for  the  support  of 
the  tree  against  waves  and  storms.    Other  root  branches  are 


A  TRnn  THAT  BUII.DS  I.SI.ANDS. 


39 


thrown  out  in  the  same  way  in  different  directions,  each 
fastening  itself  in  the  mud  and  making  a  network  of  braces. 

The  tree  now,  with  its  low,  dense,  round  head  of  evergreen 
foliage,  mounted  on  its  odd,  stilted  roots,  bears  some  resem- 
blance to  a  great  spider,  or  granddaddy-long-legs.  Nature 
seems  to  have  created  it  in  one  of  her  humorous  moods,  as  she 
has  done  some  other  things,  on  purpose  to  make  people  laugh. 

Certainly  one  of  these  mangroves,  seen  for  the  first  time, 
standing  high  up  on  its  long  bow-legs,  is  a  comical  sight.  It 
has  no  trunk  where  it  leaves  the  water,  for  it  will  be  found  that 
even  in  large  trees  the  original  stem  has  increased  but  little 
below,  though  high  up  above  the  sea  it  may  become  as  large  as 
a  man's  body. 

From  the  branches  other  air-roots  begin  to  drop  down 
vertically,  like  those  of  the  East  Indian  banian,  and  anchor  as 
the  rest  have  done,  and  the  tree  soon  begins  to  spread.  I  have 
sometimes  seen  an  acre  of  mangroves  all  tied  together  by  a 
network  of  roots  and  branches,  which  had  evidently  sprung 
from  a  single  seed. 

Nothing  could  be  better  adapted  to  resist  the  swell  of  the 
sea,  or  heavy  storms,  as  the  roots  occupy  but  little  space,  few 
of  them  being  more  than  an  inch  in  diameter  ;  they  are  very 
strong  and  tough,  and  brace  in  every  direction.  The  whole 
upper  growth  may  bend  over  and  sway  about,  or  even  be 
washed  under  during  a  gale,  but  it  is  pretty  sure  to  right  itself 
again  like  a  well-ballasted  vessel. 

Strangely  enough,  oysters  grow  on  the  roots  of  this  tree, 
attaching  themselves  firmly  b}^  the  lower  valve.  Sometimes 
the  common  cove  oysters  form  in  great  clusters  on  the  points  of 
these  roots,  the  growth  of  which  they  stop,  and  like  strange 
pendulums  swing  about,  tossed  by  wind  and  tide. 

There  is  something  almost  uncanny  and  gruesome  about  one 
of  these  mangrove  swamps.  The  sense  of  lonesomeness  and 
desolation,  the  swinging  and  creaking  of  the  trees  as  the  tide 
makes  in  and  out,  or  the  wind  blows  among  them,  and  the  rat- 
tling of  the  pendent  and  often  shell-laden  air-roots,  the  impure, 


40 


A  TREE  THAT  BUIIvDS  ISI^ANDS. 


greenish  water,  and  above  all  a  noisome  odor  that  never  is 
absent,  and  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes  that  here  find  a  home,  all 
these  make  it  a  place  to  be  shunned  by  every  one  but  a  naturalist. 

Mud  and  debris  wash  in  and  accumulate,  and  in  a  few 
years,  when  circumstances  are  favorable,  the  mangrove  barrier 
has  been  the  means  of  building  an  island  which  keeps  its  head 
above  water  except  at  high  tides.  Other  trees,  not  quite  so 
aquatic  in  their  habits,  now  come  in  and  find  a  congenial  home. 


A  Mangrove  Island. 

More  debris  is  washed  in  during  very  heavy  storms,  and  lodges 
in  the  almost  impenetrable  thicket. 

"  Trees  of  one  species  send  up  from  their  roots  thousands  of 
quill-like  spines,  in  some  places  so  thick  that  they  almost 
touch  each  other ;  and  these  bind  the  loose  soil  together 
wonderfully,  and  a  great  deal  of  rubbish  and  small  drift  is 
caught.  From  the  very  first  there  seems  to  have  been  a  fixed 
purpose  to  build  an  island,  or  extend  the  shore,  and  everything 
works  with  that  object  in  view. 

Even  the  storms,  which  sometimes  sweep  away  acres  of 
mangroves  and  the  land  they  have  so  laboriously  builded,  on 
the  whole  wash  up  more  than  they  carry  away  ;  and  I  have 


A  tre:k  that  buiIvDS  islands. 


41 


often  seen  these  large  trees  which  had  been  torn  loose  by  the 
violence  of  the  sea  and  thrown  up  on  the  beach,  or  among 
other  mangroves,  taking  hold  and  growing  as  vigorously  as 
though  nothing  had  happened. 

•  The  mangrove  rarely  attains  a  height  of  over  twenty-five 
feet  wherever  it  is  found  throughout  the  American  tropics,  and 
as  one  travels  northward  it  gradually  diminishes  in  size,  until 
it  becomes  a  mere  shrub,  and  finally  disappears  altogether 
somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Cedar  Keys  on  the  west  coast, 
and  in  a  corresponding  latitude  on  the  east  side.  This  is  no 
doubt  on  account  of  the  increasing  cold  of  winter,  as  it  is  a 
tropical  tree  and  will  stand  but  little  frost. 

But,  strangely  enough,  in  the  vicinity  of  Rogers  River,  and 
at  Biscayne  Bay  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  state,  it  grows  to  a 
great  height,  sometimes  reaching  a  hundred  feet,  forming 
dense  forests,  and  having  stems  as  straight  as  an  arrow  and 
but  very  few  branches. 

These  are  the  only  two  regions  in  which  such  a  lofty 
growth  of  this  tree  is  known,  and  at  these  places  it  is  so 
different  from  the  ordinary  form  that  some  naturalists  have 
taken  it  for  a  different  species.  It  is  quite  durable  and  resists 
the  action  of  the  boring-shell,  so  destructive  to  piling  and 
shipping,  better  than  almost  any  other  wood  known. 

From  these  two  regions  the  trees  have  been  sometimes  cut 
and  shipped  to  Key  West  to  be  used  in  wharf-building,  but  the 
labor  of  getting  them  out  of  the  forests  is  immense.  Stages 
have  to  be  built  on  which  the  workmen  stand  to  fell  them,  and 
it  is  a  great  hardship  to  drag  them  through  the  mud  and  w^ater 
and  tangled  roots  of  the  swamps,  amidst  the  swarms  of  mosqui- 
toes and  sand-flies  which  everywhere  abound  and  render  the 
lives  of  the  wood-cutters  almost  unendurable. 


Chari^ks  T.  Simpson. 


Pineapples 


In  England  and  all  over  Europe  pineapples  are  eaten  onl}^ 
by  the  few  who  can  afford  to  raise  them  in  hothouses  or  pa}- 
the  extravagant  prices  for  which  they  are  sold.  So  rare  are 
they  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  that  they  are  sometimes 
hired  to  impart  a  crowning  glory  to  banquets,  where  they  may 
be  admired  and  longed  for,  but  not  eaten. 

In  England  a  pound,  or  five  dollars,  is  considered  a 
reasonable  price  for  a  hothouse  pine,  and  even  in  this  country 
as  much  has  been  paid  for  choice  specimens  of  the  fruit  at  the 
season  when  they  are  not  in  the  market.  Until  1880  nearly  all 
the  pineapples  raised  for  market  were  grown  on  the  Bahama 
Islands,  whence  they  were  shipped  by  swift  sailing-vessels  to 
New  York  or  I^iverpool. 

To-day  the  principal  pineapple-producing  district  of  the 
world  is  in  the  United  States,  on  a  group  of  five  small  islands 
or  keys,  lying  off  the  extreme  southern  point  of  Florida.  On 
them  about  seven  hundred  acres  are  devoted  to  the  cultivation 
of  pines,  but  from  this  small  area  four  million  five  hundred 
thousand  pineapples  were  shipped  to  New  York  in  one  year. 

The  shipment  from  the  Bahamas  for  the  same  year  was 
about  two-thirds  of  this  amount,  while  less  than  a  million  and 
a  quarter  were  brought  into  the  United  States  from  other  West 
Indian  islands. 

The  mainland  of  southern  Florida  also  produces  pineapples 
in  great  number.  On  the  island  of  Cuba  the  sugar-planters 
are  just  beginning  to  convert  their  unprofitable  canefields  into 
pineapple  patches. 

The  Bahama  pineapples  are  losing  quality  on  account  of  the 
decreasing  fertility  of  the  soil,  and  the  growers  are  turning  their 
attention  to  other  products.  On  the  other  hand,  the  area  of 
pine  lands  in  southern  Florida  is  extended  with  each  year, 
and  such  pains  are  taken  in  gathering  the  crop  that  Florida 


PINKAPPI^KS. 


43 


pines,  like  Florida  oranges,  now  command  a  better  price  than 
any  others. 

Pineapple  plants,  frequently  called  trees  by  the  growers, 
rarely  attain  a  greater  height  than  three  feet,  and  are  provided 
with  stiff,  sharp-pointed  leaves  like  those  on  the  top  or  crown 
of  a  pineapple,  except  that  they  are  much  longer.  In  fact, 
the  crown  of  a  pine  is  in  itself  a  perfect  plant,  and  if  thrust  into 
the  ground  under  the  proper  conditions,  will  bear  fruit  in 
eighteen  months.  The 
pineapple  has  no  seed, 
but  is  propagated  from 
slips  or  suckers. 

Several  slips  spring 
from  the  base  of  each  per- 
fected fruit,  while  the 
suckers  shoot  from  the 
bottom  of  the  plant.  Each 
plant  produces  a  single 
fruit  and  then  dies,  but 
its  suckers  become  bear- 
ing plants  a  year  later, 
while  its  slips,  if  thrust 
into  the  ground,  will  yield 
fruit  in  eighteen  months. 

A  Pine  on  the  Stem. 

About  ten  thousand 
slips  may  be  planted  to  the  acre,  and  of  these  two-thirds  will 
bear  fruit.  Thus  the  yield  of  pineapples  is  about  seven 
thousand  to  the  acre.  If  the  growers  could  realize  one  dollar 
per  dozen  on  every  crop,  pineapple-raising  would  rank  among 
the  most  lucrative  of  agricultural  pursuits. 

But  lack  of  transportation  facilities  and  the  dependence  of 
the  growers  upon  commission  merchants  diminish  the  profits. 
The  pineapple  is  perishable,  and  there  are  many  chances 
against  its  reaching  a  distant  market  in  good  condition, 
consequently  it  is  generally  considered  best  to  sell  the  crop  in 
the  field  rather  than  to  run  the  risks  of  shipment, 


44 


pine:appIve:s. 


One  year  a  certain  grower  sent  three  ship-loads  of  pines  to 
England.  Two  of  the  ships  were  so  long  in  reaching  their 
destination  that  their  cargoes  were  worthless  upon  arrival. 
The  third  made  a  quick  trip,  and  landed  her  cargo  in  good 
condition.  The  pines  found  a  ready  sale  at  eleven  shillings,  or 
about  two  and  a  half  dollars  apiece,  and  the  lucky  shipper 
cleared  all  his  expenses,  including  the  cost  of  his  spoiled 
cargoes,  and  twenty  thousand  dollars  besides.    The  next  year 

he  repeated  the  ex- 

P  #  ^  periment  with  two 

cargoes  and  lost 
them  both. 

The  land  of  the 
keys  on  which  pine- 
apples are  raised 
would  appal  even 
the  heart  of  a  New 
England  farmer,  for 
there  is  probably  no 
land  in  the  world 
more  rocky  that  yet 
produces  paying 
crops.  It  cannot  be 
worked  with  plow, 
hoe  or  spade  ;  but  it 
does  not  need  working.  As  soon  as  it  is  cleared  of  its  dense 
forest  growth  the  pine  slips  are  set  out  in  the  virgin  soil,  or 
rather  rock,  and  the  result  is  awaited  with  confidence. 

The  planting  is  done  during  the  rainy  season,  which 
includes  July  and  August,  and  the  patch  is  kept  free  from 
weeds  for  several  months,  or  until  it  is  no  longer  possible,  on 
account  of  the  thick  growth  of  their  spiked  leaves,  to  work 
among  the  plants.    Then  they  are  left  to  their  own  devices. 

A  field  of  pines  raised  from  slips  will  continue  to  bear  fruit 
for  five  years,  though  after  the  second  year  the  yield  steadily 
decreases.    A  patch  planted  with  suckers  provides  crops  for 


The  Forest  Land. 


PINKAPPLKS. 


45 


two  years  only.  After  this  the  land  is  exhausted  so  far  as  its 
ability  to  profluce  pineapples  is  concerned,  and  must  have 
its  vitality  renewed  by  the  use  of  fertilizers  or  be  given  over 
to  other  purposes,  while  a  new  territory  is  provided  for  the 
crop. 

This  method  is  the  one  followed  on  the  keys.  Each  grower 
makes  an  annual  clearing  of  a  few  acres  of  forest  land,  and 
thus  converts  it  into  a  pine-producing  area.  As  the  keys  are 
small,  this  process  cannot  be  continued  many  years  ;  and  when 
the  timcv  comes  that  fertilizers  must  be  used,  the  soil  of  the 
mainland  will  be  as  available  as  that  of  the  islands. 

The  cutting  of  pines  for  shipment  north  begins  in  April, 
when  the  earliest  of  the  fruit  is  full,  but  at  least  two  weeks 
before  it  is  ripe.  The  season  closes  with  the  first  of  June. 
During  this  time  the  great  level  field  presents  a  most  beautiful 
picture. 

Its  whole  expanse  is  a  mass  of  gold,  tinted  with  varying 
shades  of  red  and  green.  Here  and  there  it  is  dotted  with 
clumps  of  bananas,  palms,  dark-leaved  mangoes  and  other 
tropical  trees.  Surrounding  it  is  a  dense  forest  or  hummock 
growth,  that  serves  as  a  wind-break. 

The  fruit-bearing  plants  stand  so  close  together,  and  their 
aggressive-looking  leaves  are  so  interlocked  that  it  seems 
impossible  for  any  human  being  to  force  a  passage  through 
their  serried  ranks.  The  cutting  season  is  also  the  beginning 
of  the  mosquito  season,  and  whenever  a  plant  is  touched 
myriads  of  these  winged  terrors  rise  from  it  in  blinding^  clouds. 

The  sun  pours  down  a  fervent  heat,  and  the  cooling 
sea-breezes,  that  would  otherwise  sweep  the  field,  are  kept  from 
it  by  the  impenetrable  wind-breaks. 

Under  these  conditions,  the  gathering  of  pineapples  is  no 
easy  nor  pleasant  undertaking  ;  but  few  white  men  can  endure 
the  labor.  Most  of  it  is  performed  by  burly  Bahamian  negroes, 
who  have  been  accustomed  to  it  from  their  boj^hood. 

Even  these  men  refuse  to  enter  the  fields  until  the  sun  is  so 
high  as  partially  to  abate  the  plague  of  the  mosquitoes,  and 


46 


PINEAPPIvES. 


they  generally  leave  off  work  by  four  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
During  the  cutting  season  they  receive  their  board  and  two 
dollars  per  day  in  wages,  though  at  other  times  they  are 
willing  to  work  at  from  twelve  to  twenty  dollars  per  month. 

In  the  field  the  laborers  wear  cowhide  boots,  canvas 
trousers,  leathern   gloves,  and   often  a  head   protection  of 

mosquito  netting.  In 
order  to  avoid  as  much 
as  possible  the  dagger- 
like points  of  the  leaves 
and  the  sharp,  saw-like 
teeth  that  line  their  edges, 
the  cutters  do  not  lift 
their  feet  in  walking 
through  the  field,  but 
shuffle  along,  pushing  the 
leaves  aside  with  their 
canvas-clad  legs. 

They  are  armed  with 
keen,  long-bladed  knives, 
and  carry  large  Bahama  baskets  of  a  peculiar  shape.  In 
these  they  bring  out  from  four  to  six  dozen  pines  at  a  time. 

The  fruit  that  ripens  in  the  field,  and  is  thereby  unfitted  for 
shipment,  is  at  the  disposal  of  any  one  who  chooses  to  cut  it. 
Only  those  who  have  eaten  a  pineapple  thus  perfected  have 
any  conception  of  its  possibilities. 

It  is  as  yellow  as  an  orange  and  as  full  of  juice.  Sugar 
could  not  add  to  its  sweetness.  It  melts  in  the  mouth,  and 
above  all  it  is  so  wholesome  a  fruit  that  any  one  may  eat  a 
dozen  in  a  day,  if  he  chooses,  without  fear  of  discomfort. 

In  comparison  with  this  perfect,  sun-warmed  fruit,  the  pines 
that  reach  Northern  cities  are  hard,  sour,  indigestible,  and 
unworthy  the  name  they  bear.  They  are,  however,  the  best 
that  can  be  had  until  such  time  as  railroads  find  their  way  to 
the  remote  fields  of  southern  Florida. 

Kirk  Munroe. 


The  Purseweb  Spider, 


A  few  years  ago  I  spent  an  April  in  Florida  upon  a  plan- 
tation at  the  southern  end  of  Merrit's  Island,  on  the  Indian 
River.  While  wandering  through  the  palmetto  grove  of  my 
host,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  living  creatures  that 
inhabit  the  woods,  I  noticed  many  ribbon-like  strips  of  soiled 
silk  hung  against  the  trunks  of  trees  close  to  the  ground.  In 
fact,  they  penetrated  the  surface. 

These  were  the  nesting-tubes  and  snares  of  a  species  of 
spider  long  known  as  the  black  Atypus,  whose  popular  name 
is  the  Purseweb  Spider. 

In  visiting  Florida  I  had  hoped  to  determine  the  life 
behavior  of  this  animal,  of  whose  habits  I  knew  something  in 
a  general  way.  Here  was  my  chance  !  Everywhere  in  the 
beautiful  park  and  surrounding  groves  and  jungles  I  found  its 
tubular  structures.  Here,  against 
this  palmetto  -  tree,  I  counted 
thirteen  tubes.  Some  are  large, 
some  are  small.  The  large  are 
half  an  inch  to  three-fourths  of  an 
inch  in  diameter,  and  eight  or  ten 
inches  high  ;  the  small  a  few  inches 
long  and  not  much  thicker  than 
pipe-stems. 

This  is  a  colony  of  Pursewebs, 
young  and  old,  all  having  found 
support  for  their  tubes  upon  one 
trunk.  Almost  every  sapling  that 
I  examined  had  a  similar  tube 
attached  to  it,  the  longest  that  I  have  seen  being  fully  a  foot  in 
length.  The  first  thing  that  attracts  one's  attention  is  that  these 
tubes  are  almost  the  color  of  the  tree  from  which  the}^  hang. 

They  are  attached  at  the  top  and  at  several  other  points  by 


48 


THE  PURSEWKB  SPIDER. 


clusters  of  silken  threads  that  show  distinctly  against  the  bark, 
being  of  a  steel-blue  color ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  tube  is  so 
much  the  tint  of  the  tree  that  the  careless  passer-by  would  be 
apt  to  overlook  them,  or  at  least  to  think  them  nothing  more 
than  stems  of  decayed  plants. 

This  appearance  is  not  the  result  simply  of  the  aging  or 
weathering  of  the  web.    The  spider  has  assisted  the  work  of 

the  elements,  for  the  tube,  from  the 
very  top  to  its  entrance  into  the 
ground,  has  been  carefully  covered 
with  particles  of  sand  and  bits 
of  vegetable  mold  and  sawdust, 
brought  from  the  ground  beneath, 
or  scraped  from  the  outer  surface 
of  the  bark. 

Evidently,  the  intention  of  the 
builder  of  this  snare  is  to  disguise 
its  appearance.  What  can  be  its 
motive  for  doing  this  ?  We  shall 
see  presently. 

Meanwhile,  let  us  follow  this 
tube  along  the  base  of  'the  trunk 
to  its  terminus  in  the  ground. 
We  dig  away  the  sand,  which  is  thickly  mingled  with  brown, 
decaying  vegetable  mold,  and  find  that  the  web  runs  down- 
ward into  the  ground  for  a  distance  about  equal  to  its  length 
above  the  surface,  but  generally  a  little  less.  Sometimes  one 
finds  a  short  branch  running  out  this  side  or  that  into  the 
adjoining  sand,  and  often  a  rounded  cell  or  den  at  the  end  of 
the  underground  tube.  Within  this  den  one  will  be  pretty 
sure  to  find  the  occupant  of  the  snare,  if  he  has  not  hit  upon  it 
before. 

It  is  an  odd-looking  creature,  as  it  lies  bunched  up  in  one's 
hand.  It  has  a  broad  chest,  widest  at  the  head,  two  black, 
curving  mandibles  or  fangs,  eight  black  legs,  rather  short  and 
stout,  with  wdiitish  rings  marking  the  joints  of  the  limbs,  a 


Irtto  the  Ground. 


THE  PURSEWKB  SPIDER. 


49 


plump  abdomen  covered  with  black,  furry  hairs,  and  having 
at  the  tip  four  pairs  of  spinnerets,  of  which  the  upper  ones  are 
twice  as  long  as  the  others,  and  jointed  like  the  legs.  This  is 
the  Purseweb  Spider  of  Florida.  It  is  half  an  inch  in  length  or 
more,  if  full  grown,  and  of  less  size  down  to  the  little  baby 
spiderling  that  lives  in  a  tube  no  thicker  than  a  knitting-needle. 

Curious  to  know  something  more  of  the  habits  of  our 
Purseweb,  and  especially  to  find  out  how  it  spins  its  nest,  I 
gathered  a  number  of  specimens  and  placed  them  in  glass 
fruit-jars,  the  lower  parts  of  which  had  been  well  packed  with 
sand,  and  in  the  centre  of  which  a  stick  was  placed.  It  was 
thus  intended  to  give  them  an  environment  as  nearly  like  their 
natural  habitat  as  possible. 

For  a  while  the  captive  spiders  did  nothing  to  satisfy  my 
curiosity.  They  lounged  around  their  artificial  home,  and 
sunned  themselves  upon  the  surface  of  the  sand.  But  at  last 
I  caught  one  of  them  at  work,  and  solved  the  problem  that  had 
vexed  my  curiosity.  I  discovered  how  the  Purseweb  Spider 
builds  its  tube. 

First  she  stretched  a  series  of  silk  lines  against  the  lower 
part  of  the  stick,  fastened  at  one  end  to  the  soil  in  a  half  circle, 
set  a  short  distance  from  the  point  where 
the  stick  entered  the  sand.  The  other 
ends  were  carried  about  an  inch  and  a 
quarter  upward  and  attached  in  a  like 
circle  to  the  bark  of  the  twig. 

These  threads,  to  use  a  familiar  illus- 
tration, looked  like  a  lot  of  straight  bean 
poles  leaned  up  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
their  tips  touching  the  bark  and  their 
butts  placed  in  a  circle  upon  the  earth. 

.  ^  The  Den. 

These  lines  were  the  framework  of  a 
tube.    The  spider  next  placed  herself  inside  the  frame,  grasped 
several  threads  with  her  feet,  threw  her  body  upward,  and 
set  her  little  spinning  factory  working. 

Thick  filaments  of  white  silk   rapidly  issued  from  the 


50  THK  PURSEWKB  SPIDKR. 

Spinning  tubes,  and  as  her  body  moved  down  and  up,  down  and 
up,  this  spinning  stuff  was  beaten  against  the  lines,  to  which  it 
readily  adhered.  Then  the  spider  ceased  her  spinning  for  a 
moment,  and,  moving  her  long-jointed  spinners  back  and 
forward  over  the  material  already  spun,  she  plastered  it  down 

and  smoothed  it  over,  much 
after  the  manner  of  a  mason 
who  is  plastering  mortar 
against  the  lathing  of  a  wall. 

One  little  patch  being  thus 
finished,  the  weaver  moved  to 
an  adjacent  point  and  repeated 
the  process  already  described, 
until  at  last  she  had  encom- 
passed the  whole  inner  surface 
and  covered  herself  from  view. 
A  siniilar  stretch  of  silk  was 
plastered   against   the  stick, 

First  Threads.  Covered.  which    UUitcd    with     the  part 

woven  against  the  frame-work 
lines,  and  completed  the  tubular  snare.  Now  I  possessed  the 
secret  of  the  spider's  handicraft,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I 
was  able  to  determine  that  the  tube  is  gradually  carried  up 
the  tree  by  simply  repeating  the  process  already  described. 
That  is  to  say,  the  tube  is  built  in  sections  and  carried  up 
story  after  story,  until  it  has  reached  a  height  which  quite 
satisfies  the  ambition  of  the  cunning  architect. 

I  cannot  affirm  that  this  is  the  only  mode  of  construction, 
but  that  it  represents  the  ordinary  manner  I  have  no  reason  to 
doubt.    It  certainly  shows  an  admirable  method  of  work. 

One  would  think  that  our  Purseweb  Spider  would  be  quite 
satisfied  with  such  a  structure  ;  but  no  !  there  is  something 
more  to  be  done.  The  tube  is  entirely  too  white,  and  perhaps 
much  too  sticky  by  reason  of  the  silken  material  of  which  it  is 
composed,  to  suit  the  purposes  of  the  architect.  She  therefore 
descends  to  the  earth,  gathers  a  pellet  of  sand  within  her  jaws, 


THE  PURSKWKB  SPIDER. 


51 


remounts  her  tube  and  deliberately  proceed.s  to  daub  the  outer 
surface  with  the  sand.  This  process  is  continued  until  the 
exterior  of  the  tube  is  sanded  over. 

Thus  it  seems  probable  that  the  peculiar  appearance  of  the 
webs  is  not  accidental,  but  results  from  a  deliberate  purpose. 
As  the  sand  in  the  groves  and  woods  is  mixed  so  thoroughly 
with  brown  mold  of  decayed  leaves,  the  white  appearance 
of  the  silk  is  soon  destroyed,  and  the  tube,  as  it  hangs  against 
the  tree,  has  the  color  of  the  trunk  which  supports  it. 

If  one  cuts  the  tube  open,  however,  he  finds  that  the  inside 
is  kept  scrupulously  smooth  and  clean. 

Having  thus  studied  the  character  of  the  snare  and  its 
method  of  construction,  and  determined  the  fact  that  it  is 
deliberately  disguised  by  being  daubed  with  sand  or  forest 
mold,  we  may  ask,  What  are  the  uses  of  this  snare,  and  the 
purpose  of  this  mimicry  ?  Why  should  the  spider  wish  to 
make  her  tube  look  like  the  tree  on  which  it  is  supported  ? 

If  we  have  patience  to  sit  in  the  woods  and  watch  during 
the  day,  and  perhaps  also  throughout  the  night,  we  may  find 
an  answer.  The  trunk  of  a  tree  is  a  favorite  highway  for 
insects.  All  sorts  of  flies,  beetles,  and  ants  are  in  the  habit  of 
passing  to  and  fro  upon  it  in  search  of  food  or  resting-places. 
One  may  sometimes  see  a  column  of  ants  streaming  up  a  tree, 
and,  close  by,  a  similar  column  streaming  down  and  straggling 
away  into  the  woods. 

These  are  foragers  who  have  been  to  the  outmost  branches 
for  honeydew,  perhaps,  and  who,  having  filled  themselves  with 
the  delicious  store,  are  on  their  way  home  to  feed  the  workers, 
antlings,  winged  sexes  and  larvae. 

From  such  insect  travellers  the  spider  secures  her  prey. 
See  that  insect  slowly  climbing  the  tree.  It  straggles,  at  last, 
towards  the  point  where  the  Purseweb  snare  hangs. 

The  web  lies  almost  fiat  against  the  bark  and  looks  so  much 
like  it,  and  feels  so  much  like  it  to  the  delicate  touch  of  the 
insect,  that  it  is  no  wonder  it  does  not  suspect  it  to  be  the  fatal 
trap  of  its  hereditary  foe. 


52 


THE  PURSEWEB  SPIDER. 


But  the  spider  is  well  aware  of  the  matter.  She  is  lurking 
inside  her  tube  with  her  back  against  the  tree  and  her  legs 
outspread,  lying  as  motionless  and  seemingly  dead  as  the  bark 
alongside  her  tube. 

The  unwary  insect  has  reached  that  part  of  the  snare  just 
over  the  spider.  Swift  as  thought  the  eight  claws  close  in, 
swinging  the  folds  of  the  tube  around  the  victim,  while  with 
equal  rapidity  the  sharp  fangs,  and  perhaps  also  the  claws,  cut 
from  the  inside  a  slit  into  the  snare, 
through  which  the  jaws  are  thrust  and 
the  insect  seized. 

The  prey  is  secured,  and  is  dragged 
into  the  tube  through  the  opening  thus 
made.  When  the  victim  is  devoured, 
the  spider  proceeds  to  close  the  rent  it 
has  made,  plastering  it  over  with  silk 
and  carefully  covering  with  sand  the  new 
material  used  for  this  purpose,  so  that  it 
may  look  like  the  rest  of  the  snare. 

One  English  species  makes  a  burrow 
in  the  ground  and  an  external  tube  pre- 
cisely like  that  of  our  Florida  Purseweb  ; 
but  instead  of  carrying  it  along  a  tree  and 
attaching  it  perpendicularly  to  the  same,  it  bends  the  tube, 
just  after  it  leaves  the  burrow,  and  supports  it  upon  the  surface 
of  the  ground  or  tufts  of  moss,  grass  or  other  vegetation 
growing  on  the  surface. 

An  American  observer  has  recently  seen  a  similar  mode  of 
trapping  prey  practised  by  our  Purseweb  Spider  in  North 
Carolina.  When  an  insect  alights  upon  the  tube,  the  spider  is 
advised  of  the  fact  by  the  agitation  of  the  web,  and  stealthily 
creeps  up  to  it.  Then  she  flings  the  folds  of  her  tube  around 
the  hapless  victim,  slits  the  snare  and  drags  her  prey  inside. 

Henry  C.  McCook. 


Corn- Shucking  in  the  South. 


In  the  times  when  Southern  farms  were  cultivated  by  the 
labor  of  slaves,  it  was  the  custom  of  the  farmers  in  some 
regions  to  assemble  their  hands  during  harvest,  and  to 
assist  one  another  to  gather  in  their  crops,  so  that  the  burden 
might  be  lighter  upon  each.  The  corn  stood  in  shocks,  and  the 
ground  was  covered  with  the  golden  pumpkins,  only  waiting 
to  be  made  into  delicious  pies.  The  trees  were  laden  with  ripe 
walnuts  and  hickory  nuts,  and  many  were  the  marauding 
parties  of  boys  that  invaded  the  yellow  woods. 

This  was  the  time  for  the  corn-shucking.  Large  wagons 
were  driven  into  the  field  of  shocks,  each  of  which  usually 
contained  the  product  of  sixteen  hills,  or  a  barrel  of  corn. 
The  appearance  of  the  wagons  was  a  matter  of  exceeding 
disgust  to  the  squirrels,  who  had  looked  upon  this  harvest  as 
their  own,  and  of  terror  to  the  swift-footed  rabbits,  eying 
askance  the  wholesale  capture  of  their  gleanings,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  timid  quails  who  had  hidden  in  the  field  from  the 
eagle  and  the  hawk  to  feed  and  fatten  for  the  hunter's  gun. 

But,  quite  unmindful  of  the  claims  of  the  previous  occupants, 
the  human  invaders  went  on  with  their  work  of  destruction 
until  the  corn  was  all  torn  from  the  stalk  and  hauled  to  the 
scene  of  action  at  the  buildings. 

Then,  when  nature  had  donned  her  mantle  of  purple  and 
gold,  and  the  cool  air  had  put  life  into  the  veins,  the  working 
force  of  the  neighborhood  was  brought  together  on  a  moonlight 
night,  for  work,  sport  and  a  jolly  time.  White  and  black 
mingled,  and  every  man  did  his  part  without  regard  to  race  or 
social  standing. 

The  corn  was  arranged  in  two  piles  upon  opposite  sides  of 
a  double  crib,  separated  by  a  space  of  some  ten  or  fifteen 
feet,  all  under  shelter  in  case  of  rain.  At  each  of  these  piles 
one  division  of  the  party  worked,  and  there  was  great  fun  in 


54 


CORN-SHUCKING  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


the  choosing  of  sides.  Two  captains  were  first  chosen,  one 
for  each  side  ;  these  two  tossed  up  a  coin  for  the  first  choice, 
and  then,  one  by  one,  the  rank  and  file  of  the  shuckers  were 
selected,  beginning  with  the  best  and  swiftest,  and  so  running 
down  to  those  who  were  comparatively  no  account  men  and 


boys.  The  captain  was  the  absolute  director  of  his  men, 
and  was  to  receive  a  prize  if  successful. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  signal  to  begin  was  given.  Such 
a  falling  to  as  followed  !  Songs  and  shouts  kept  time  to  the 
rattling  husks  and  the  flying  ears.  The  husks  were  thrown 
back  as  much  out  of  the  way  as  possible,  while  the  corn  was 
tossed  into  the  crib. 


CORN-SHUCKING  IN  THK  SOUTH. 


55 


There  was  much  excitement  when  the  space  between  the 
cribs  was  too  narrow  for  more  than  one  pile,  and  this  was  a 
huge  one.  In  this  case  a  heavy  rail  was  laid  across  the  centre 
as  nearly  as  could  be  measured  by  the  eye,  and  this  dividing 
line  must  not  be  touched,  upon  penalty  of  losing  the  prize. 

As  the  slippery  ears  were  loosened  and  lessened  by  the 
busy  hands,  the  rail  toppled.  Then  the  captain's  voice  came 
thundering  to  this  or  that  man,  Ned  or  Bob  or  Dick,  to  seize 
here  or  catch  there  ;  and  at  the  very  last,  sly  jostlings  of  the 
rail  to  get  the  smaller  half  for  our  side  made  such  uproar  as 
was  long  to  be  remembered. 

Meantime  the  songs  rose  higher  and  higher.  A  favorite 
song  was  a  certain  monotonous  air,  led  by  one  of  the  best 
singers,  the  entire  force  joining  in  the  refrain.  The  words 
were  made  up  then  and  there,  and  the  rhymes  were  endless, 
every  singer  improvising  his  own. 

By  and  by  the  last  ear  was  shucked,  and  one  side  had 
won  the  race.  The  announcement  of  the  result  was  the 
beginning  of  general  rejoicing,  even  among  the  beaten,  for  all 
had  their  thoughts  upon  the  banquet  in  readiness  at  the 
farmhouse.  The  captain  of  the  winning  side  was  lifted  upon 
the  shoulders  of  stalwart  men  and  carried  around  and  around 
the  cribs,  amid  cheers  alike  of  victors  and  vanquished, 
and  then  the  entire  party  marched  to  the  house  in  high  glee, 
where  the  women-folks  awaited  them. 

Such  a  feast  as  here  tempted  appetites  that  needed  no 
tempting !  Roast  turkey,  boiled  ham,  snowy  rolls,  fragrant 
corn-dodgers,  hot  coffee,  delicious  pies,  rich  butter  and  cool 
milk  made  up  the  main  bill  of  fare,  and  for  dessert  a  bushel 
basket  of  juicy  apples  stood  in  the  corner. 

By  this  time  the  black  helpers  were  at  their  cabins,  enjoying 
festivities  of  their  own,  while  the  white  folks  squared  them- 
selves for  a  dance.  Quickly  the  dining-room  w^as  cleared  ;  the 
squeaky  fiddle  was  taken  down,  its  rickety  pegs  were  oiled, 
and  the  dusty  strings  were  coaxed  into  an  inspiring  walk-around 
by  the  black  musician. 


56 


CORN-SHUCKING  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


"Turn  your  partner!  Face  her  now!"  shouted  the 
prompter,  who  must  always  be  a  black  man  if  the  affair  was  to 
go  off  well. 

At  last,  when  word  was  given  to  "  cut  de  pigeon  wing  an' 
promenade  all!  "  the  floor  was  a  whirl  of  breathless,  panting 
couples,  as  the  feet  flew  fast  and  furious  to  catch  each  step  the 


In  the  Cornfield. 


law  allowed.  Admiring  spectators  shouted  their  enthusiasm, 
and  sleeping  bats  awoke  from  midnight  slumbers  to  view  the 
wild  sport. 

Tired  nature  at  last  clamored  for  her  rights,  and  the  roosters 
were  crowing  in  all  the  neighboring  barns  and  poultry-houses 
as  the  guests  dispersed  under  the  paling  rays  of  the  moon. 

KuGKNE  Southern. 


A  Southern  Village 


Village  and  Town  Improvement  Societies  are  multiplying 
in  nearly  all  the  states.  They  stand  for  local  education,  for 
society  with  a  purpose,  and  are  one  of  the  promising  expressions 
of  American  life.  They  teach  the  young  to  become  public- 
spirited  and  foster  local  self-respect. 

I  stopped  for  a  day  at  Green  Cove  Springs,  Florida,  a  town 
delightfully  situated  on  the  St.  John's  River.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  places  in  the  South.  It  is  hewed  out,  as  it 
were,  of  the  forest  primeval ;  orange-trees  fill  the  air  with 
fragrance,  and  mocking-birds  sing  in  the  clear  sunlight.  The 
town  looks  out  on  the  broad  river  through  vistas  of  giant 
live-oaks,  gray  with  age  and  streaming  with  mosses.  There 
was  discovered  here  nearly  a  century  ago  a  spring  of  transparent 
water,  which  has  become  famous  for  its  healing  qualities. 

The  town  gives  the  stranger  a  most  hospitable  welcome 
everywhere.  This  hospitality  is  not  an  outcome  of  speculative 
advertising,  but  was  the  thought  of  a  single  benevolent  citizen, 
carried  out  by  the  Village  Improvement  Association. 

The  surroundings  of  the  railroad  station  have  been  made  a 
park  under  these  influences,  and  fenced  with  the  giant  logs  of 
the  forests,  and  ornamented  with  the  trunks  of  cypresses 
inverted,  so  as  to  have  the  shape  of  floral  fountains. 

These  inverted  cypress  trunks  are  set  into  the  earth  and 
filled  on  the  top  with  native  evergreens  and  flowers.  Near  the 
station  the  solitary  visitor  is  arrested  by  a  unique-looking 
structure,  in  front  of  which  is  a  sign-board  that  bears  the 
following  legend  :  "  A  Place  of  Rest  and  Comfort.  A  Welcome 
to  our  Residents,  our  Visitors  and  Strangers.  I^adies'  Village 
Improvement  Association . ' ' 

On  the  opposite  side  of  this  courteous  sign-board  is  written  : 
"  We,  the  Ladies,  bid  you  Good-by.    Come  again." 

The  visitor  to  this  curious  house  will  at  once  notice  an 


58 


A  SOUTHERN  VIT.LAGE. 


American  flag  waving  from  a  tall  staff,  itself  a  welcome. 
Inside  he  will  find  a  library  of  excellent  books  and  periodicals, 
free  to  every  one  ;  beautiful  rooms  where  windows  look  out  on 
orange-trees  loaded  with  flowers  or  fruit,  or  both,  that  catch 
the  breezes  of  the  river,  and  that  are  made  musical  by  the 
murmur  of  the  pines  ;  and  a  polite  hostess  who  will  give  any 


The  Inverted  Trees. 


information  which  may  be  desired  about  the  town  and  river. 
In  the  rooms  above,  the  boys  have  an  association,  where  also 
a  band  rehearses  which  they  have  organized  for  playing  on 
evenings  and  holidays. 

On  his  way  the  visitor  may  be  surprised  to  see  painted 
barrels  at  the  corners  of  the  streets.  The  Boys'  Village 
Improvement  Society  use  these  for  the  purpose  of  collecting 
garbage  from  the  public  ways,  so  as  to  keep  the  streets  clean. 
Some  of  these  gay  barrels  have  rhymed  instructions.  Here  is 
one  of  the  ' '  pieces  of  poetry  :  ' ' 

My  name  is  Empty  Barrel ;  I'm  here  for  a  meal ; 

Pray  fill  me  up,  kind  stranger,  with  trash  and  orange-peel. 

Hezekiah  Butterworth. 


St.  Augustine. 


Out  of  a  long  region  of  shadowy  palm  crowns,  sunny  orange 
groves,  and  swamp  fields  of  glimmering  palmetto,  the  train 
swept  into  the  open  country  by  the  sea,  and  crossed  the 
St.  Sebastian. 

What  a  wonderful  change !  There  is  no  other  like  it 
anywhere.  America  seemed  to  vanish  at  the  river.  An 
Oriental  city  of  airy  towers,  red-tiled  roofs,  and  acres  of  palaces 
half-buried  in  ancient  trees  rose  before  the  eye.  The  Spanish 
tales  of  Washington  Irving  came  to  life  again  in  memory. 
Were  we  looking  out  upon  some  conquered  Moorish  town  in 
the  Spain  of  the  conquerors  ? 

My  head  became  the  region  of  romance  from  the  moment 
the  turreted  roofs  and  hanging  gardens  began  to  fill  the  eye. 
The  palaces  of  shell  marble  before  me  had  arisen  since  I  last 
saw  St.  Augustine,  as  under  the  wand  of  an  enchanter. 

The  train  stopped  at  a  long  station,  and  we  stepped  out  into 
a  tropical  garden.  The  railway  stations  in  England  are  famous 
for  their  flower-gardens,  but  we  never  saw  there  any  like  this. 

I  stopped  a  moment  to  view  the  scene  before  me.  The 
town  lay  under  the  quiet  blue  sky,  green  with  fringes  of  orange 
groves.  The  sky  itself  was  wonderfully  beautiful.  It  was  as 
soft  as  that  of  Seville,  a  delicate  blue  arch  over  the  luminous 
air.  The  balmy  Gulf  winds  just  stirred  the  gray  Spanish 
mosses  in  the  old  live-oaks  about  the  town  ;  pinnacles  every- 
where kindled  and  blazed  ;  open  balconies  and  airy  corridors, 
all  rising  over  acres  upon  acres  of  red-tiled  roofs,  and  trees 
eternally  green.    It  was  my  first  view  of  New  St.  Augustine. 

"  Have  a  'bus  for  the  Ponce  ?  "  He  Americanized  the  fine 
old  Spanish  word.  It  seemed  like  the  throwing  of  a  bottle  of 
ink  against  a  masterpiece  of  tone  color. 

My  little  cousin  pulled  me  forward,  and  hurried  me  toward 
the  town.    At  every  step  the  wonder  grew.    A  long  line  of 


6o 


ST.  AUGUSTINK. 


carriages  swept  ahead  of  the  foot-passengers  and  travellers,  and 
these  were  already  being  welcomed  by  the  Spanish  band.  I 
was  in  the  land  of  fancy  again.  America  had  at  last  produced 
a  poem  of  mosaic  and  native  stone  gems  and  sea  marbles  as 
romantic  as  the  Taj,  as  lovely  as  the  Alhambra ;  it  was  here. 


Front  Entrance  to  the  Ponce  de  Leon. 


* '  I  am  told  that  Flagler  spent  six  millions  of  money  on  his 
hotels,  and  is  going  to  lay  out  four  millions  more.  Do  you 
think  that  he  will  ever  get  his  money  back  again  ?  " 

This  was  prosaic  enough,  and  clipped  the  wings  of  my 
fancy  again.    It   referred  to  the   man   who   built  the  two 


ST.  AUGUSTINB. 


6i 


principal  hoteLs  and  the  Memorial  Church.  There  was  some- 
thing really  noble  in  the  answer  to  the  mysterious  question 
which  I  had  heard  behind  me. 

"  I  think  that  Mr.  Flagler  feels  a  patriotic  pride  in  what  he 
is  doing  ;  that  he  is  a  true  American  gentleman,  and  does  not 
consider  the  matter  of  gains  or  losses  at  all.  What  he  has 
done  is  a  historic  credit  to  the  whole  country.  A  man  who  so 
spends  his  money  is  a  benefactor." 

The  Spanish  hotel  palaces  now  confronted  us,  and  we  stood 
before  the  two  lions'  heads  at  the  gateway  to  the  Ponce  de 
Leon,  under  the  iron  portcullis  and  its  beautiful  arch  of  tracery 
and  airy  colorings.  Could  this  be  America  ?  We  stopped  to 
look  around,  amid  the  odors  of  rose  gardens,  the  flash  of  foun- 
tains and  the  music  of  mandolins.  Courts,  turrets,  Moorish 
towers,  loggias  and  cool  retreats  !  acres  of  red  roofs,  with  art 
and  beauty  everywhere  ! 

There  was  a  pull  at  my  sleeve. 

"  Let  us  go  up  to  the  Children's  Playroom.  I  want  to  see 
the  Devil  among  the  Tailors.  We  shall  have  time  to  see  these 
things  afterward." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  the  Devil  among  the  Tailors  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  you  know?  It  is  a  great  game  down  here. 
Everybody  goes  to  see  it.  You  spin  a  steel  top  on  a  marble 
surface,  and  it  goes  whirring  into  a  great  doll-house,  all  full  of 
little  doors  and  rooms.  In  the  little  rooms  the  tailors  are  at 
work,  and  the  top  bounces  around  until  it  goes  into  every 
room  and  knocks  over  all  the  tailors.  Come,  and  I  will  show 
you." 

"  But  what  do  I  care  for  a  toy  game  amid  all  of  this 
magnificence  !  ' ' 

"  Oh,  there  is  too  much  of  it !  It  makes  me  tired  !  I  like 
to  see  something  I  can  understand." 

Oliver  Goldsmith  once  attracted  much  attention  on  a 
London  street  until  there  came  along  a  man  with  a  hand-organ 
and  a  monkey.  He  was  then  left  to  pass  on  unnoticed.  He 
thought  the  world  was  very  strange  and  changeable. 


62 


ST.  AUGUSTINK. 


The  Ponce  de  lyeon's  gorgeous  courts  and  rooms  all  seemed 
to  lose  their  interest  for  young  people  after  some  genius 
introduced  into  the  Children's  Playroom  at  the  top  of  the 
building  the  very  funny  game  of  the  Devil  and  the  Tailors. 

I  allowed  the  persistent  little  hand  to  lead  me  on.  We 
passed  through  the  court, — who  can  describe  it  ? — through  the 
reception-room,  all  so  bewildering  as  to  be  oppressive,  amid 


music  and  flowers  and  tone  colorings,  over  pavements  of 
beautiful  stone. 

Up  we  went  to  a  room  in  the  rotunda,  all  beauty  and 
balconies,  that  looks  out  on  pile  upon  pile  of  historic  art.  I 
found  myself  amid  a  crowd  that  surrounded  the  seemingly 
magic  toy. 

Presently  a  small,  bright-looking  girl  drew  the  string  around 
the  steel  top  through  a  hole  in  the  board  framework  of  a  little 
platform  of  open-topped  rooms,  so  as  to  give  it  force.  It  began 
to  spin  on  the  polished  surface.  It  found  its  way  into  the  first 
little  room  and  knocked  over  the  tailor.  It  bounded  around 
the  room  until  it  found  the  next  little  door,  when  it  entered 
and  continued  its  destructive  work. 


Rotunda  of  the  Ponce. 


ST.  AUGUSTINE. 


63 


It  went  on  and  on  till  it  entered  all  the  rooms  and  knocked 
down  nearly  all  the  poor  tailors.  There  was  a  joyous  shout, 
and  the  number  of  the  tailors  overturned  was  marked  upon  a 
blackboard.  It  was  fascinating,  but  what  was  I  doing  here  in 
a  children's  playhouse,  while  I  was  on  such  historic  ground  ? 

There  were  the  landing-place  of  the  poetic  old  Ponce  de 
Leon  ;  the  scene  of  the  Spaniards'  Mission  and  the  Huguenots' 
suffering ;  the  historic  Matanzas,  green  with  eternal  palms  ; 
gray  Fort  Marion,  survivor  of  so  many  national  changes ;  the 
decayed  plantations  of  the  Minorcans,  and  the  shell  lands  of 
the  Seminoles. 

Here  rose  the  pillar  of  stone  with  the  arms  of  France  ;  here 
Sir  Francis  Drake,  who  plowed  a  sea  furrow  around  the  world, 
came  pillaging  the  coast  and  returned  thence  for  England 
with  a  ship  of  gold  ;  here  Menendez  reddened  the  land  with 
noble  blood  ;  here  Father  Juniper  preached  and  Ribault  sang 
on  the  River  of  May,  now  the  St.  John's. 

I  broke  away  from  the  bewildering  little  game,  and  went 
down  the  bewitching  palace  stairs.  I  glanced  at  the  famous 
dining-room  and  its  panorama,  where  the  exploits  and  dreams 
of  old  Ponce  de  I^eon  appear  as  if  in  a  vision.  Then  I  went 
out  beyond  all  the  great  area  of  the  palace  to  the  Plaza  and 
the  old  sea-wall. 

The  sky  was  flushed  with  the  sunset,  blue  and  amber  and 
crimson.  I  had  stood  on  the  same  place  years  before,  and  had 
seen  the  same  Old  Market  by  the  waterside,  and  the  white 
shaft  of  the  Spanish  monument. 

But  old  St.  Augustine  was  gone.  The  frost  had  withered 
its  ancient  date  palms,  and  the  fire  had  swept  from  the  Plaza 
the  old  cathedral  and  its  cross  of  bells.  Before  me  lay  New 
St.  Augustine,  with  taller  date  palms  and  a  grander  cathedral, 
with  new  spires  and  towers,  and  acres  of  palace-like  structures 
that  had  gathered  to  themselves  the  Spanish  and  Moorish  art 
of  a  thousand  years. 

I  walked  along  the  one  grand  thoroughfare,  St.  George 
Street,  northward  toward  Fort  Marion  and  the  city  gateway, 


64 


ST.  AUGUSTINE. 


the  only  noticeable  remains  of  the  elaborate  system  of 
fortifications  which  once  defended  St.  Augustine  on  three 
sides.  I  passed  out  on  the  shell  road  beyond  the  towers  of 
the  gate  now  dwarfed  and  humiliated  by  overtopping  modern 
houses. 

I  saw  not  their  humiliation  but  their  proud  place  in  the  old 
wall  that  ran  across  the  peninsula  from  Fort  Marion  to  the 
river  St.  Sebastian.  I  saw  the  deep  moat  in  front,  flooded  at 
every  tide.  I  heard  the  sentinel  of  the  tower  warn  me  to  return 
before  the  firing  of  the  sunset  gun,  when  the  drawbridge  over 
the  moat  would  be  raised  and  the  gate  shut,  and  there  could 
be  no  entrance  for  friend  or  stranger  till  morning. 

The  ditch  is  filled,  the  long  walls  are  gone,  but  proud  Fort 
Marion  still  stands,  the.  well-preserved  and  only  example  of 
mediaeval  fortification  in  America  ;  a  magnificent  specimen 
of  military  engineering  of  its  age,  but  absolutely  worthless  as 
a  protection  in  modern  warfare. 

Hkzkkiah  Butterworth, 


THE  COMPANION  SERIES 


Preserves  in  permanent  form  some  of  the  most  valuable  and  interesting 
articles  of  the  eminent  authors  who  have  written  for  The  Youth's 
Companion.  These  Books  are  appropriate  for  Libraries,  both  private  and 
public,  and  for  use  in  Schools. 

Each  volume  contains  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  pages,  is  illustrated 
by  The  Companion's  best  Artists,  is  bound  in  strong  linen,  and  contains 
four  volumes  of  The  Companion  Library  described  on  the  inside  cover  at 
the  beginning  of  this  book.    The  Series  comprises  the  following  volumes: 

By  I/and  and  Sea.    A  Book  of  Travel  and  Research. 

Containing  The  Companion  Library  Nos.  2,  3,  4  and  5. 

Talks  About  Animals.    A  Book  of  Natural  History. 

Containing  The  Companion  Library  Nos.  6,  7,  8  and  9. 

Our  Country :  West.  The  Newer  Portions  of  the  United  States. 
Containing  The  Companion  Library  Nos.  10,  11,  12  and  13. 

Our  Country  :  i^ast.   The  Earliest-Settled  Regions  of  America. 
Containing  The  Companion  Library  Nos.  14,  15,  16  and  17. 

Price  50  Cents,  Sent  Prepaid. 


PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 
201  Columbus  Avenue.  BOSTON,  MASS. 


The  Youth's  Companron 


is  an  Illustrated  Family  Paper.  It  is  published  weekly. 
Its  illustrations  are  by  the  best  artists. 

Its  stories  represent  real  life  and  aim  to  interest 
readers  of  all  ages.  They  are  stimulating,  healthful  and 
helpful/but  never  sensational.  Their  great  number  and 
variety,  together  with  their  marked  excellence,  give  Tiie 
Companion  acknowledged  preeminence  among  literary 
publications. 

Its  miscellaneous  articles  are  read  by  young  and 
old  with  equal  eagerness.  Its  letters  of  travel  present 
the  picturesque  features  of  foreign  life.  Its  articles  on 
health  and  etiquette  are  of  real  practical  value. 

No  man  or  woman,  however  intelligent,  can  fail  to 
find  in  its  editorials  upon  current  topics  facts  that  are 
ncJt  ordinarily  found  in  other  papers,  and  that  it  is  a 
pleasure  and  a  benefit  to  know.  Young  people,  especially, 
should  possess  the  information  they  give. 

Its  biographical  and  historical  articles  are 

very  valuable  to  those  who  appreciate  the  elements  of 
progress.  Successful  men  and  women  in  many  branches 
of  business  and  professional  life  give  their  experiences 
to  the  readers  of  The  Companion. 

The  paper  aims  both  to  entertain  and  to  instruct. 
Not  a  sentence  lo  which  the  most  lareful  parent  would 
object  is  allowed  to  appear  in  its  columns.  It  seek- 
jecome  a  family  friend,  bringing  help  and  cheer  to  every 
member  of  the  household,  and  to  influence  directly  the 
conduct  and  issues  of  dally  life. 


